Crave for Me
by sinverguenza
Summary: When Severus Snape accidentally injures Hermione Granger, a tenuous magical bond is formed between the two. SSHG, PostHBP.
1. Phluxweed

**Story Disclaimer:** This story is based off characters and locations owned and created by J. K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Publishing, Warner Brothers or any other company that own copyright to the Harry Potter series. The story may include characters and locations owned/created by other parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon, George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Fox, Paramount, Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a variety of other people. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Professor." A very prim and businesslike voice sliced through Severus Snape's concentration.

It was Thursday afternoon, his free period, which was a time when students might drop in and ask for help with homework or a particularly confusing concept from sometime during the week. Luckily for him, most students made it a point not to spend time tête-à-tête with the Potions Master, even if it meant a poor grade for the term.

Thank Merlin for that. He treasured these quiet moments, and had been quite engrossed in filling out the next supply order for his classroom. He looked toward the speaker, and found a pair of brown eyes looking somewhere past his left shoulder. Accompanying said eyes was a pile of curly brown hair, and a small, pinched mouth that strangely mirrored Headmaster McGonagall at her sternest.

Hermione Granger. He sighed with irritation.

"Speak. If you must."

Miss Granger held a small purple form in her hand. Was that truly…?

"I'm dropping Potions. I'll need your signature, if you please." 

Hermione pushed the drop card forward.

Snape detected a hint of sarcasm, and that ever-present ridiculous amount of formality in her tone. However, he chose to ignore it in the light of more interesting news. Dropping Potions? She was an irritating know-it-all, but as much as he hated to admit it, she was the most gifted student in all of his classes.

Not that he _would_ ever admit that. It had been an almost all-out war between them since this school term started.

Snape slid his fingertips over one corner of the card. The card bore the signature of Minerva McGonagall. Well. He bent his head and tersely signed his name. Without looking back up, he held it out toward her.

She ripped the card from his fingers. "Thank you so much, Sir." Her voice dripped with affected sweetness. "And may I say how sorry I'll be not to have the privilege of your instruction any longer." 

Flounce, and exit. Chit. He didn't even have to look up to see it occur — Her hair and uniform whirling to catch up behind her as she pranced out of his Potions classroom. He'd seen her leave in the same fashion dozens of times throughout the previous six years in which he'd taught her. Usually after a particularly acidic exchange between the two of them, which seemed to be increasing in number the more years that passed.

From the first day she'd entered his classroom she had irked him. Her eager hand was always first in the air, always accompanied by the appropriate answer to whatever he could throw at her. Miss Granger's one redeeming quality was that the Potter boy seemed to dislike her, and she him. Of course, that had all changed a few weeks later. She'd been a rotten little show off since.

Unfortunately, she'd been almost infallible in her studies. He'd often try to make her feel foolish in front of the class by asking her questions to which she should not know the answer. He firmly believed that Miss Granger memorized her schoolbooks before the start of each term. It rankled.

During the first few years she had remained sufficiently intimidated. She'd never openly challenged him or his teachings, and beyond the constant interference with Longbottom's hopeless ministrations, he'd had little to complain about. She'd simply annoyed him.

Then, three years ago, he'd come upon the effects of a confrontation between Potter and Draco Malfoy, which had instead afflicted Miss Granger and Goyle. He'd made a small crack then about the size of her teeth, which were not abnormally large…simply noticeable.

Ever since then, her eyes had refused to meet his for more than a brief millisecond. Her work was, as always, exceptional. Her hand continued to rise in class, but not nearly as often. Her eager-to-impress attitude was severely dampened, and there was a tone of insouciance in all her dealings in the classroom from then on. She was so damned subtle that there was never anything concrete to punish. Any other teacher would never have sensed the impudence that radiated from her small form, seated primly at her desk. Her papers had become increasingly saucy, and two weeks ago she did the absolute unthinkable.

Term had just begun. He had assigned the class a rather complicated glamour potion dealing with changing the appearance of an item temporarily. The staff meeting before class had run long and he had found himself hurrying to prepare the lesson before the Gryffindors and Slytherins arrived for double Potions. The instructions were hastily scrawled on the board in front of the room in barely legible writing. He needed to complete some notes from the previous meeting, and his mind was absorbed completely by them. He had "suggested" the students work quietly and efficiently.

Quiet indeed. He could hear the rustle of her robes as she raised her hand.

"Miss Granger."

"Sir, I regret that I am unable to complete this potion."

Always that damnable saucy tone. That overly polite jargon.

"Why?"

"Sir, I have no phluxweed."

The students' heads remained bowed, slowly chopping and preparing the myriad of ingredients. Every word was being absorbed, however.

"It's none of my concern if you were unable to procure the items on your supply list, Miss Granger."

"Sir, phluxweed was not included on the l-"

"Don't be silly, girl." He cut her off quite rudely. "It certainly was."

Her eyes were downcast and she managed to look sorrowful. "I regret that the supplies listed only fluxweed, Sir. F-L-U-X-weed. I was actually unaware that a P-H-L-U-X-weed was in existence."

At this point every one of the Gryffindors (and several of the Slytherins) strangled into their respective cauldrons very loud and rude-sounding sniggers. Longbottom sat next to her, not daring to laugh, eyes large in a frightened face. He'd always been terrified of Snape. Potter had no such reservations. He had grasped onto the bottom of Weasley's sweater and was pulling down emphatically as his shoulders shuddered in stifled laughter. Pinned by his clothes, Weasley was forced to lay his head on the table as fat tears rolled out of his crinkled eyes and pooled on his desk. Hermione Granger continued to look somewhere in the direction of Professor Snape, ever well mannered with an expression of polite indifference, hands folded on desk.

What little color that was in Professor Snape's face slowly drained. His crooked teeth showed through a mouth slightly parted with astonishment. His voice fell to an almost inaudible whisper.

"There will be silence in this classroom."

It was so. Silent, but with many Gryffindor shoulders still shaking, heads bowed. This only incensed Snape even more. His eyes were solid black chips that seemed to sputter as he spoke with a frigidly low voice.

"Miss Granger."

"Sir."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor. And detention for a week."

"Am I to assume that these 'weeds' are one in the same?"

"Fifty. And if I hear you speak once more this day, I will make it one hundred."

Oh, she had angered him that day. And embarrassed him badly in front of students of his own house. He'd scribbled those lines so hastily on the board. That it was a legitimate mistake on his part made it all the worse. That Miss Granger had noticed it and had the monumental cheek to point it out in front of the class was well, infuriating.

She'd flounced out of the room that day as well. So damned proud of herself though there was no outward emotion indicating such. He could tell just from the way her hair bounced from the back. The fifty points lost would be a pittance compared to bitty Hermione Granger besting the Potions Master and the prestige it would lend Gryffindor. Her week of detention with Filch was served with no complaints from either party. Pity. He'd have liked to assign detention to her for the rest of her Hogwarts career.

Severus scowled at the memory. He pulled out his ledger and turned to the Gryffindor sixth years. _Granger, Hermione J._ was found without difficulty, and he paused a moment before scratching the name off with a bold slash. Good riddance.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Dropped Potions? Are you mental?" Harry stared at Hermione over a forkful of mashed turnip in the Great Hall.

"Yes, I'm mental." Hermione busied herself with a dish of clotted cream.

"In your Sixth Year?" Harry's fork was still raised to his mouth. 

"Pfeh," said Ron. "Why didn't anyone tell me we could drop core classes? I'd have skipped the dungeon altogether starting first year."

"You can't," said Hermione. "I've had to beg McGonagall since the end of last term to let me drop it. Honestly, Harry, either put the fork into your mouth or onto your plate."

"And she let you?" Ron looked incredulous.

"Only after I promised a spectacular grade on my NEWTS in Potions. I think I'll be able to study enough on my own to get an E at the very least. And I'm picking up Astronomy again in its place."

"Lucky," said Harry, with not a small amount of jealousy in his words.

"Wish I had the Headmistress in my pocket," grumbled Ron.

"Who's to say you can't? I heard she's looking for a new pool boy for her private estate," said Harry.

Ron snorted.

"Yes, I've often thought you'd look fetching in a Speedo, Ronald," said Hermione sincerely.

"I've just remembered; a Speedo doesn't have pockets."

"Oh good point, Harry. I could probably knit him one with a pocket on the bum though. Put an 'R' on it as well. My own special twist on a Weasley sweater."

Harry and Hermione chortled as Ron rolled his eyes and continued to shovel turnips into his mouth. "Merlin, don't ever tell me what a Speedo is."

The three became engrossed in their meal for a short while, until Harry exclaimed, "Wait! You can't quit Potions! Who's to help us with the work?"

Ron suddenly looked quite worried. "Yeah, you know we uh, need your notes to double-check ours with."

Hermione glanced at the two through lowered eyes. They were so lazy. "Between the two of you I'm sure you can come up with a full set of notes." 

"But yours are so much more…" Ron's hands gestured in the air, "er-Complete!"

"Oh please. I will _look over_ your homework from now on if you two promise me one thing. Neville. You've got to help him in that class; he's no good at it. What's more, he's so scared of Snape that he can't think straight as soon as he walks into the dungeon."

Harry and Ron agreed eagerly and miraculously found their appetites again.

"I don't think he'd be half bad at Potions if Snape wasn't such an arse to him," said Harry.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I've seen his hands shake so bad that he couldn't cut his sneezewort straight."

Hermione was silent as the two boys began a spirited argument about the merits of broom polish. She'd seen Neville's hands shake too. It was so ridiculous and unneeded, all of Snape's posturing and nastiness toward his students. It made her sick, the way he treated them. She couldn't stand to watch it any longer.

Of course, to be perfectly honest with herself, that's not why she'd dropped the class. Her motives were much more self-centered. In short, she detested Snape and didn't want to be in the same room with the man. She found it harder and harder to control her own mutinous remarks in his classroom.

Oh, she knew it was childish to hold a grudge, but his cruel comment about her teeth in fourth year was not forgotten. Her eyes winced simply recalling the incident. She'd promised herself after her first Potions class that Snape would never make her cry, but that day he'd succeeded. Luckily, she had escaped to the Hospital Wing before the tears could fall silently down her cheeks.

Not that she hadn't been called worse in her life, she thought ruefully. Insults from Malfoy and his cronies were one thing. She cared very little for their opinion. But while she'd always found Snape to be rude and domineering, she'd also admired his abilities very much. He was a talented wizard, and she'd learned a great deal from his instruction. She'd had a fair amount of respect for him, if not for his method of teaching. He'd been indispensable in the Order, and more importantly, to Dumbledore. One dreadful night last term, he had made the sacrifice that many would have shirked from when he obeyed Albus Dumbledore's plea. Snape had been a wanted man for almost a month before the prophecy was discovered in Dumbledore's office, one that exonerated Snape and eventually led Harry to the discovery and shattering of Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes. Still, many loyal to Voldemort still sought to uphold his ideals in a new master: Lucius Malfoy. The Death Eaters were still very much a powerful presence in the Wizarding world. Snape found that many in the Wizard Community distrusted him as result of this, not completely believing that he had indeed remained loyal to Dumbledore. Finding himself faced with exile and scorn, he'd returned to the relative safety of Hogwarts. As luck would have it, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had already been filled, leaving Potions as his only alternative. Hermione knew that it must have been hard, expecting a hero's welcome, only to find suspicion. 

Still, he'd hurt her dreadfully that day in her fourth year. She was still angry to think that he'd insulted her so, and had continued to pick on her in class. She'd carefully avoided eye contact with him during the school year and during Order activities unless it was absolutely necessary.

Spurred by her thoughts, she quickly glanced up at the High Table.

Snape was looking straight at her, eyes dark and squinting.

Damn! Hermione quickly looked away. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Snape had found himself thinking on Miss Granger often throughout today. Dropping Potions. But why? It seemed to be an unsound plan. It was no secret that Hermione Granger cared very much about her schoolwork. It seemed uncharacteristic of her to risk a low grade on the NEWTS in Potions.

Before lunch, he had sought out a certain tartan-clad matron in the Staff Room. "Minerva, a word," said Snape.

"Certainly, Severus."

"I've just had Hermione Granger in my classroom."

"Oh!" Minerva straightened her glasses. "My goodness, how very vexing of me. I'd meant to tell you that she'd be coming 'round with a drop card. Miss Granger has expressed a very fervent interest in Metal Charming. She'll need to pick up Astronomy and make up some lost time. Potions was the only place we could see to make space. The girl has excellent marks in your class. I thought that she could study Potions sufficiently on her own time before her NEWTS."

Snape was silent. _Metal Charming?_ Of all the asinine and insipid subjects to choose for an occupation! What a waste of ability. Miss Granger may be an insufferable know-it-all, but she was certainly bound for better than a career of making teapots and coal hods. 

"Of course Severus, if you feel she's not capable, I'll put her back in directly. I'm not entirely satisfied with her selection of occupation either, but it is her choice, after all."

"No, Minerva. That's not necessary."

Minerva paused before she continued. "Perhaps you'd review her progress in a few months time. If she's not up to speed we can put her back into class."

Snape grunted. "I can think of more agreeable ways of spending my time. But I suppose I could pose her a few questions. Analyze a vial of potion or two."

Minerva looked pleased. "Excellent, Severus."

Snape swept into the Great Hall for lunch and took his seat to the right of the headmistress. Roast beef and mashed turnips. Again. The house elves truly needed a greater variety of menu. He was tired of the same food, year after year. Instead of dishing up a plate, Snape opted for a mug of tea and a buttered scone.

He ate rapidly and found himself idly gazing about the Hall. He glared at Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins, who was about to dribble a dollop of marmalade down Megan Jones's back. Hopkins quickly resumed his meal, ears burning. Young Mr. Creevey was perched on the end of his bench, talking animatedly and waving his hands about. Unfortunately, one hand contained a rather large spoonful of turnip, which was soon airborne. A thunderous bellow erupted from the Hufflepuff table as Owen Cauldwell wiped off his face.

Luckily, Creevey had managed not to splatter the rest of his tablemates, which included Miss Granger and her two friends. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke with Potter and Weasley. Suddenly, she and Potter were laughing. She had even, white teeth. The hefty buckteeth that he had mocked years ago were now sized to an ordinary dimension.

Snape ran his tongue over his own crooked teeth. Her face was bent over her plate now, apparently deep in thought. Abruptly she glanced up from her plate to look directly at him. She swiftly lowered her eyes and turned away. Severus scowled. Idiot girl. Metal Charming indeed.


	2. Tutor Me Not

Later that night, Severus Snape was lounging on the comfortably worn divan in his private quarters, one leg up, another on the floor. It had once been jade velvet, but the years had worn it to more of a dusty emerald. Like so much in his life, the lustre had given way to reveal a dreary interior. He smiled dourly at the thought, and swirled the small glass of brandy in his hand.

Certainly he hadn't served Dumbledore in return for praise, but he'd not expected the wizarding community to be so vindictive towards him. The headline "Snape Kills Dumbledore" in the Daily Prophet the day after Albus had passed was fresh in his mind.

Snape took a large gulp of his brandy. Albus had been a sentimental fool. There had been other ways. A suitable substitute could have been procured.

Snape himself had offered to dispose of the Horcrux at the beginning of last year. Surely the death of a much-reviled Potions Master was little compared to the loss of Albus Dumbledore. He had pointed as much out to him.

"No, Severus." Dumbledore had looked at him kindly. "This is not your battle."

"Albus, please be reasonable…there are those who need you," said Snape.

"There are those that need you as well, my boy."

Snape scoffed. "Hardly." Severus had no friends, no family…_definitely_ no lovers. Just his position at Hogwarts, and his usefulness as a spy for Dumbledore.

Albus chuckled softly. "Severus, you have given most of your life to serving either Tom or myself. Since the age of 18, you have had no time to serve yourself. You have been indispensable to our Cause. Without you, I doubt we would have come this far. You've endured much at the hand of Voldemort. No, I will ask no more of you, except that you do as I tell you when the time comes, no matter how little you wish to carry through."

And so he had.

A light knock sounded at the door, thankfully suspending his thoughts.

"Enter."

Professor Lupin creaked the door open. "How did you know that wasn't a student knocking, Severus?"

Snape took a sip of brandy. "If a student were ever to approach within two meters of my door, I'd be shocked." He gestured to an exquisitely inlaid globe on the sideboard.

"Ah, thank you." Lupin swished his wand over the globe and the top opened to reveal several bottles of liquor and a glass.

Remus Lupin had sought out Snape a few nights a week since the school term started. A small glass of whisky and some light conversation to end the day. Lupin seemed lonely without his new bride.

"Nymphadora's not about to give up her Auror position and hole up here with me," said Lupin rather ruefully on the first evening he visited. "No, I can see her on the weekends and available evenings. It's not a permanent solution, I know, but for right now it's working."

Lupin poured a brandy and seated himself in a chair opposite Snape.

Both men were silent for a few minutes.

"Brandy. Not your usual technique, Remus."

"No, but you seem to be rather fond of the stuff. I thought I'd give it a go. I'll have a whisky after this as well, perhaps."

"That traumatic of a school day?"

Lupin laughed softly. "Ah, they're good children, and they do try. Some are rather wearisome at times, though."

"What was the subject today?"

"Boggarts." Lupin sighed. "Deirdre Spooner's a claustrophobic. The boggart stuck her in a trunk. Took me almost forty-five minutes to get it to stop marking her and go after me instead."

Snape had been deeply disappointed to learn that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had been returned to Remus Lupin. Minerva had expressed her regrets that Lupin had applied for and been given the job long before Snape had been exonerated.

Still, he found that he did not hate or even resent the man; on the contrary, he had found his visits to be somewhat pleasant.

"Miss Spooner is often a trial in Potions as well. One of many."

"On that note, I've heard you lost one of your brighter trials this afternoon, Severus."

Snape's lips curled. Damn. He'd nearly forgotten about that.

"If you're referring to Miss Granger, then yes, she did drop Potions this afternoon."

"Seems a shame really. I can't think why Hermione'd want to pick up metal-charming."

Snape scoffed. "Can't you? Imagine how well she'd succeed, a halfway intelligent person in a profession riddled with dimwits. She'll become the patron witch of metal-charming."

"Oh, I don't think she's as mercenary as that. Didn't she turn down the Head Girl position this year?"

"And now all anyone can say is how if Miss Granger were Head Girl, what a better job she'd be doing."

"I think you judge her too harshly, Severus. She was a great help to us this summer."

That she had been.

"And to Harry, especially," said Remus.

Snape clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Please. I look forward to her interpretation of a Potions textbook with no practical application."

"Oh, I thought you were to tutor her."

"What?!" Snape sat up from the divan.

"Yes, I saw Minerva in the Staff Room earlier, and she said you'd be helping Hermione."

Snape's face contorted in anger. "That damned manipulative chit!" He rose from the divan, marched to the door, and threw it open.

Lupin's shoulders hunched up slightly and he looked bewildered. "Severus, please wait, I may have…"

The door slammed shut.

Lupin sighed and looked around the empty room. "…misunderstood." 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione looked at Harry thoughtfully as his eyes stared at the opening of the Great Hall, where Ginny Weasley had recently entered.

"You miss her," said Hermione softly.

They were settled with their homework at the Gryffindor table. Dinner had been cleared away hours ago. Harry and Hermione were seated across from one another, books spread across the table. Ron, exhausted from Quidditch practice, lay with his head upon his book, lightly snoring.

Harry grinned ruefully. "Not really."

"Oh." She smiled.

"No, truly." Harry shut his book and leaned back to stretch, arms over his head. "It's just…not meant to be."

Hermione threw him a dubious look.

"I mean it. She's a good girl and all…and I do still care for her, in a way. I just can't be the champion all the time."

"Meaning...?"

"Oh come on, Hermione, surely you've heard this from Ginny sometime in the past four weeks?"

Hermione had spent a fantastic two weeks before school at the Weasley's Burrow. Harry was there as well, of course. It had felt so wonderful to eat good, plain food, play Quidditch in their fields, to just RELAX.

"No actually I haven't, Harry. She's been quite distant from me this summer. I wonder that she doesn't blame me for…you know."

"Nah, I don't think so. She was distant from me too; still is. And no one blames anyone for you two breaking up."

Ah, Ron. Hermione dusted a bit of lint off of Ron's red hair. His kisses over the summer, while pleasant enough, did not seem to ignite the enthusiasm that she'd heard so much about from Lavender. Last year it had seemed so important that Ron and her be together. She had truly believed that if Ron had a girlfriend he would be unable to remain best friends with Harry and her. Ridiculous, really. As if someone could come in between the three of them after all they'd been through. She should have known better. And she soon did, after a few months of being his girlfriend.

They'd made a good try of it though, which culminated in an unspeakably awkward sexual encounter on Ron's bed one afternoon at the Burrow. After, when they were laying by each other, one of them – Hermione could never remember whom – had started to snicker. Suddenly, they had both been laughing, on Ron's bed, sweaty, hot, naked, and horrified. Laughing hard enough to make Hermione's side cramp painfully and Ron wipe a tear from his eye. It had been the definitive proof they'd both needed to realize that, like Harry and Ginny, they were "not meant to be".

She glanced at Ron's face now as it lay on his book. She was glad he had been the first. More importantly, she was relieved that they were able to return to the easy camaraderie of previous years, though they did still clash on occasion.

"…She'd always see me as the saviour who rescued her in the Chamber, or the brilliant Quidditch Captain, or The-Boy-Who-Lived…I expect she'd like me to play that role for the rest of my days. And she couldn't understand why I didn't want to do it."

"Oh." Hermione frowned, and then realized Harry was still talking about Ginny. "She wanted to go after Lucius, d'you mean?"

Harry nodded. "She was ready to start tracking him the morning after we found the last Horcrux, insistent that I owl Draco Malfoy in Azkaban to smoke out a clue. Wanted to go there and question him. Hermione, I'm just not up to it." Harry rubbed his eyes.

While it's true Draco had provided information to help find Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, he had refused to aid the Ministry's efforts to find the remaining Death Eaters, which included his father. Draco's information had proved vital in many instances. His cooperation had facilitated his pardon of all charges related to the Attack last spring. So here he was, back at Hogwarts. Still, something was…not right about him. He seemed undernourished and unhealthy and _something_ else. One could tell just by looking at him. Because of this, she was still very wary of him.

That, and that he remained a perfectly horrid arse to them. Hermione looked regretfully at Harry. "I don't blame you for not wanting to pile more danger on yourself…this last month has been blissful without it."

Concentrating on simply being a student at Hogwarts for their seventh year seemed to be an unexpected reward. How often had she envied the other Hogwarts students as she sat at this very table? They merrily went about their way studying, enjoying their friends and making fine memories. Not worrying about monsters in the pipes, Polyjuice Potions, and professors with maniacal murderers underneath their turbans. She'd never had a year to simply relax and not agonize over innumerable problems.

"I'm concerned about Lucius Malfoy, of course," said Harry. "But it's really not my problem right now. There're plenty who are capable of handling him. Give me this last year." Harry sighed. "He'll be found. Even on his best day Malfoy's not half the wizard Voldemort was."

Hermione smiled. "He'll be your problem next year, if you get your wish." Both Harry and Ron had applied to the Ministry of Magic to be Aurors.

"Nah, I've got another three years of training to bugger off in after that as well." Harry chuckled. "They'd go a lot faster if you'd come to your senses and apply also."

"Your homework would go a lot faster, you mean." Hermione looked idly at the pages of her Arithmancy book.

"You don't have better plans."

"I suppose not."

"Hasn't McGonagall bothered you at all about choosing a career?"

She hadn't wanted to get into this right now, but now was as good as ever, she supposed. "She has."

"When will you pick?"

She turned a page in her book, feigning interest. "I have already."

Harry pulled the book from her hands. "What?!"

Ron's head wrenched off of the table at Harry's bark. "Hrmm…" he said, blinking his eyes and looking at his two friends.

"Hermione's picked her profession!"

Instantly Ron's eyes focused. "And?" He turned eagerly to Hermione.

She exhaled noisily. "Metal-charming."

Ron's eyes grew round. "What? _Metal-charming_?!"

"Metal-charming?" Harry looked confused. "What's that? I've not heard of it."

Ron snorted. "I don't believe you, Hermione."

"You should. It's true," she said.

"You're having us on," said Ron.

"I'm not." Hermione had retrieved her book from Harry's hands and was intensely interested in it once again.

"Are!"

Harry banged a fist down onto the table. "What the hell is metal-charming?"

Ron ran his fingers through the front of his hair. "It's like, the dullest day of History of Magic, only worse. You know how mirrors talk to you, or how a teapot knows when to stop filling your cup…that's all charms. You get a big box full of say, candleholders. Then you say the charm that makes 'em turn on magically over it. Then you do that with each candleholder 'till you've got through all of them. And the person who sits in a room and does that all day is a metal-charmer."

"That's all?"

"Yup."

Harry's face was skeptical. "But…who'd want to do that?"

"Well, Hermione, apparently," said Ron sarcastically. "Usually though it's someone who got all 'Trolls' on their NEWTs or something like that. It doesn't take much brainpower." Ron paused. "Pay's crap too."

Harry shook his head. "No way, Hermione. You _are_ having us on."

"I am not. And may I point out that while in my records my official Occupational Goal is metal-charming, that's not to say I intend on becoming a metal-charmer."

"So why take all the classes for it if you don't want to be one?" said Ron.

"Because, Ronald." Hermione paused to let a sly smirk creep onto her face. "Metal-charming's a very unique profession, in that it's got nothing in the world to do with Potions."

There was a long pause as the words sunk in.

"Oh, you bloody sneaky old cow." Ron glared at Hermione, but couldn't keep a small note of approval out of his voice.

"Ron!"

"You knew you'd get a good mark in Potions on your NEWTs if you took the test today. You just didn't want to sit in Snape's class anymore and look at his greasy head," Ron said accusingly.

"Ha!" Harry clapped his hands together.

Hermione beamed. "You've got me. Astronomy's the only class a metal-charmer need be close to passable in, as the cycles of the moon have an affect on components of the metal. And I dropped it last year. I told McGonagall that Potions was the only class I felt I could drop now and still get a good mark in on the NEWTs. "

Her two friends were astonished by the fact that she had been so deceitful in lying to Headmistress McGonagall. Hermione had always been a real stickler for adherence to Hogwarts policy. "Oh come off it, I just don't want to spend my last year stuck in double Potions with the Slytherins every Tuesday and Thursday. Or with Snape, but that goes without saying." She was now laughing silently at them. "Well? Say something!"

Ron looked at her in amazement. "I cannot _believe_ all those times you've told me off for fibbing to Filch, or to McGonagall. If I ever hear another lecture from you about following school rules, I'll hex you into the next decade."

"Okay, no more lectures. Promise." Hermione said, smiling.

"Which will certainly be an exercise in frustration for you, Miss Granger," said a very deep voice in clipped tones.

Hermione spun around at the words to see Professor Snape standing behind her. How much had he heard? Hermione instantly adapted her "Snape-face", and fixed her eyes on the professor's left earlobe.

"Professor."

"Miss Granger. I've just heard an interesting bit of information. Can you think what that was?"

"No, sir, I cannot."

"I've just been told that I'm to tutor you in Potions."

Hermione's brow wrinkled and she bit her bottom lip softly.

"Ah, feigned confusion!" Snape leaned in ever so slightly. "You may be able to twist everyone in this school round your finger, including the Headmistress, but you cannot do that to me. I will _not_ tutor you, much may you beg McGonagall. You wished to drop Potions, and now you may deal with the consequences of your actions."

Hermione's cheeks were quite pink and her brown eyes were snapping. "Professor, I have asked _no one_ to tutor me, including yourself!"

"I don't believe you," Snape sneered.

"Hey!" Ron stood up from the table. "Don't call her a liar!"

Snape turned and looked at Ron. "Stay out of this, Weasley," he snarled.

"Yes Ron, do." Hermione stood up from the table to face Snape. "In fact, Professor, I don't feel I even _need _tutoring in Potions! I'm quite certain I can obtain the desired marks all on my own!"

"We shall see, shan't we, Miss Granger? I know you're fantastic at regurgitating facts from whatever book you've got your nose stuck in. But I'm sure you'll find that the Potions section of the NEWTs requires a sense of creativity and original thought. Both of which you do not possess."

Hermione's eyes widened and then narrowed. She cocked her head slightly and stared intently at the air to the right of Snape. "Thank you for your kind concern on the progress of my studies, sir." Her voice positively dripped sweetness. "But I prefer to take career advice from someone who's able to _keep_ the job they worked fourteen years to get."

Ron and Harry dared not laugh. The look in Snape's eyes was positively murderous. "Fifty points from Gryffindor," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And you will serve detention for a week. With me this time, Miss Granger."


	3. A Most Devious Detention

Hermione took a deep breath to prepare a retort to Snape's declaration of detention when her eyes flicked to Harry's.

"Shut up," Harry mouthed viciously.

Hermione pinched her lips together until they were white and shut her eyes tightly.

Snape stared at her for more than a moment, as if willing her for another outburst. After seeing no response, he finally spoke. "My classroom at seven o'clock, Granger." Snape walked away from the table.

Harry gathered up their books from the table and juggled several of Hermione's heavy tomes as they rushed down one of the halls. Both he and Ron were a tad afraid of what she was capable of at this point.

"Hermione! What was that about?" Harry asked her accusingly once they had rounded a few staircases.

Hermione's eyes were still bright, two spots of pink high on her cheeks.

Ron was shaking his head. "You're in for it now, you know."

"He's not my professor any longer, it's not as if he can fail me!" Hermione's voice was higher than usually and a little on the thin side. 

"Doesn't matter, he can still give you detention," said Ron. The three were walking briskly toward the Gryffindor common room.

"Obviously, I know that," Hermione snapped.

Ron lifted his hands in front of him, yielding. "Hey, don't get angry at me."

"I'm not. I'm just…angry!" Hermione's pace sped and the boys exchanged a dubious look as they matched their stride to hers.

"But why? I don't understand what Snape did. I know he's a right bastard, but I've never seen you treat a professor like that. And it's nothing more than he's said to us before. Gray poodle," said Harry tersely to the Fat Lady.

The painting swung forward to let them in. Hermione charged into the common room and started to unload her books from Harry's overflowing arms. Hermione fumbled with one particularly slippery volume before letting out a grunt of frustration. She then flung the book down hard onto one of the soft couches. Ron winced as the book bounced off the couch onto the floor. Hermione Granger just threw a book on the ground. The world was certainly ending.

Hermione sat onto the couch and stared moodily into the fire as she spoke. "He doesn't _believe_ me? Treats us like we're his enemy. Doesn't it make you angry that it's all the same? As if all of us weren't working to defeat a common goal for the past seven years! It's not fair and it's not right. It's over now. Things were supposed to be different, but he still treats us all horribly. We've done nothing to deserve it."

Harry stood uncomfortably by the sofa, mind traveling unbidden to Snape's memories in the Pensieve of the Marauders and the day by the lake. Ron plunked himself next to Hermione on the couch. The spots of color on her cheeks were starting to fade a little.

"I'm sick of it."

"I know what you mean, Hermione. I thought he'd let up too," said Ron. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "If anything, he's more nasty than ever."

Harry put the rest of the books down on the floor and perched on the arm of the sofa. "And it's not as if he's got to keep up appearances for Voldemort's sake anymore." 

"Oh, God. A week's detention with Snape," said Hermione mournfully. She leaned forward with her head in her hands, elbows on her knees. "I've kept my mouth shut for six years, why couldn't I have just kept it shut another term?"

"I don't envy you that." Ron shook his head.

"It's getting harder to not say things," said Hermione. "I almost wish I hadn't turned down Head Girl. I'd have been afraid to lose the position. But I didn't – I wanted this year to be normal. For us." Hermione frowned. "Now it looks like I'll be spending half of it with Snape in the dungeon."

All were silent for a few moments.

"I bought some new Sugar Quills last week. You can take one with you to detention tonight. If you like." 

"Ron, you know I hate those."

"Oh, right."

"He'd probably give you another week if he caught you with one, anyway," said Harry.

"I think he likes seeing us lose our tempers," said Ron contemplatively. "You want to really punish him, just do what he says and smile while you're at it. A really _big_ smile. Just imagine him with grease-eating maggots all over his slimy hair, going up his bent no-." Ron was interrupted by the sound of the common room door opening. His shoulders instantly perked up.

Lavender Brown sauntered into the common room. "Won-Won! I haven't seen you all day, you nasty, naughty, wicked little boy!"

Hermione fought off a shudder. She had learned to appreciate Lavender more since term started. The same courtesy did not extend to that atrocious moniker.

Ron leaped off of the couch "I'm sorry, love." He grinned and wrapped his arms around Lavender's waist, kissing her on the cheek.

"And I did so want to go for a walk 'round the lake before curfew." Lavender looked disappointed.

"We could arrange that, I think." Ron turned to Harry eagerly.

"Already there, mate." Harry tossed a certain disreputable map onto Ron's outstretched hand.

"Thanks!" Ron grinned.

Lavender tugged Ron through the portrait hole, both murmuring all the while. 

"Disgusting, isn't it," said Harry.

Hermione smiled lightly. "Yes, it is. But it's great to see him so happy." 

Harry nodded in agreement. "Listen, don't stress over Snape, Hermione. Really, it's just a week. You can stand it for one week. Then, just act as if he doesn't exist when you see him from then on."

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid."

"I'll wait for you outside the classroom during detention if you like."

Hermione hesitated. "No, Harry, you've better things to do than twiddle your thumbs for an hour every night."

"I'll do homework while I wait. Listen, I know what it's like going solo with him. Not fun. Just knowing there's life outside the door is comforting." Harry grinned.

She couldn't help but brighten at his words. "I should say no...but that'd be really excellent, Harry." 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Snape was in his classroom and had just finished laying out a few ingredients when he heard a soft chime from the clock tower.

On the eighth and final clang, a grinning Hermione Granger entered the classroom. Behind her, Snape could see Potter leaning against the wall adjacent to the door.

Snape scowled and rifled through some papers on his desk. "Your detention, Miss Granger, should prove to be a very simple one. All that will be required of you is the brewing of a single potion."

Hermione looked at the ingredients laid out on one of the tables. Blackthorn root, toad spleen, diluted sassafras…a few other ingredients she didn't recognize, totaling around thirty in all.

Remembering Ron's suggestion, she smiled brightly and replied with a chipper "Certainly, Sir."

"The instructions are written there." Snape pointed to a rather thick roll of parchment on the table.

Hermione picked the parchment up and started to unroll it. It gave Snape an inordinate amount of pleasure to see that idiotic simper drain from her face.

"I wish you luck, Miss Granger. I'm sure Professor Lupin will find it rather unpleasant if you fail to make this potion to his specifications."

Hermione let the scroll unroll itself, falling well past her knees. Wolfsbane Potion! She gasped.

"You can't mean that I'm to b-brew this for Professor Lupin in your stead?

"That's precisely what I mean, Miss Granger."

Hermione quickly scanned the uppermost portion of the instructions.

"Sir, I cannot brew this."

Snape seated himself at his table. "Why not?"

"I won't take the risk!"

"What risk? Surely a student who feels confident enough to give up seventh year Potions can brew a Wolfsbane Potion?"

Hermione slammed the scroll onto the table. "There are Wizengamot Elders who couldn't brew this!"

Snape ignored her outburst. "A piece of advice before you begin. The potion takes four or five days to mature. The first six paragraphs of the instructions must be completed in the next hour, before the moon rises."

Hermione willed her chest not to tremble. "At least brew another batch in case I do it wrong."

"I think not. I've only enough aconite for one."

"Be fair, Professor! You can hate _me_ all you like, but surely Remus doesn't deserve this!"

'Ten points from Gryffindor for referring to a Professor informally."

Hermione's fists clenched but she bit back an angry reply. Only just.

"You are wasting precious minutes, Miss Granger."

Hermione quickly grabbed the parchment and turned to the table of ingredients. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, and Hermione was completely involved in the potion. Snape watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her cheeks were very pink and a thin gleam of perspiration covered her face. Hermione had twisted her hair back and knotted it with a spare quill, but pieces were beginning to escape and fall around her face. She worked steadily, slicing off thin pieces of Jobberknoll feather.

Really, she hadn't irrevocably ruined the potion yet. Of course, she had chopped her jimsonweed too finely and had cast a substandard Parolipis, but nothing that would render it useless.

Hermione added the Jobberknoll feathers, and stirred the potion four times, clockwise. She watched it intently for a few moments. The potion began to bubble a vibrant yellow.

Hermione wearily leaned her head on her table and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Same time tomorrow, Miss Granger. Dismissed."

Hermione gathered her things quickly and all but ran out of the classroom.

Harry was sitting just where she'd last seen him and was writing on a small piece of parchment. He slipped it into his pocket and stood up.

"How was it," said Harry as they headed back to Gryffindor tower.

"Awful."

"What'd he make you do?"

Hermione's face was blank. "I'm brewing Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin."

Harry paused. "That's incredibly hard, isn't it? Even Lupin can't brew that potion."

"Yes."

"He can't be serious."

"I've got to go to the library. I've got to read up on it," said Hermione as she abruptly turned a corner.

"Surely not tonight, Hermione?"

"I have to," she called over her shoulder

That was the last Harry saw of her until he and Ron left the boys' dormitory for breakfast the next morning. They found Hermione fast asleep on one of the desks in the common room, in yesterday's robes, surrounded by mountains of books.

The second night of detention was much like the first. Sweat glistened on Hermione's face as she read and re-read the convoluted instructions, chopped, mixed, and in essence expended all of her potions knowledge. By the night's end, the potion had separated into two distinct layers, a dark orange on the bottom and a cloudy yet opaque layer on top. Hermione thought that top layer should have been a bit denser, but it should do.

Snape thought that his gaze made her more uneasy and nervous than anything. Testing his theory, he started openly watching her on the third evening. He folded his hands on his desk and stared at her, his black eyes unblinking, watching every move of her slim fingers.

Hermione grabbed the parchment and read a few lines. "Chop betony stems and add in quarter increments…" whispered Hermione under her breath.

"Silence."

Hermione's back was to Snape, so she safely rolled her eyes. She moved several glass jars on the supply table, looking for the one marked betony stems. Finding it, she grabbed it and plunked it onto her worktable.

"Five points."

Hermione scoffed. "For _what_?

"I told you to be silent."

Hermione gritted her teeth and grabbed her Potions knife, allowing a brief fantasy wherein she plunged the knife into Snape instead of betony stems. She chopped the stems and added them into the cauldron.

Snape inhaled sharply. She'd done it. Admittedly, Miss Granger had gone much farther than he'd expected without ruining the potion, but she'd certainly spoiled it now. She'd left the flower buds on the betony stems. He'd made that very mistake once several years ago.

However, the Potion remained a vibrant yellow, just as it should be. It wouldn't start to degrade noticeably until tomorrow evening.

A vindictive grin twisted his lips. "Dismissed, Miss Granger." 

-------------------------------------------------------------

After tonight, there would be only one more wretched evening of detention. Hermione was in the library, reading up on Wolfsbane Potion for an hour or so before she was expected in the Potions classroom. The Hogwarts library had one moldy book on Werewolves with a depressingly small section on Wolfsbane Potion recently added. It was mostly footnotes and vague advice of little help.

Still, it was much easier to research it outside of the classroom. Snape's constant stare made her clumsy and distracted. She needed her wits about her if she was to complete this potion properly. She studiously read on.

"Oh…oh, no."

She felt sick.

_Footnote B:327. When adding the stem of betony, carefully remove all flower buds, as betony buds will render the Wolfsbane potion abortive._

Tears welled up in her eyes. Oh, God…she had to find Remus.

Not bothering to grab her bag, she raced out of the library, ignoring the screeches of Madam Pince to slow it down.

Professor Lupin was chatting amiably with Professor Flitwick on one of the low fences in the courtyard when he heard frantic sobs behind him. He turned to see Hermione Granger, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Hermione, what-"

"I've spoilt it."

"Spoilt what?"

"The Wolfsbane Potion. I was to brew it. He wouldn't do it, not even a standby."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Hermione's face crumpled. "He had me brew it, for you…it was my detention. And I did it wrong, added the buds, it's all ruined now, and there's no more aconite."

Lupin still looked entirely bewildered.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't-" Hermione burst into fresh sobs, turned on her heel, and ran away.

"Hermione," Lupin called after her. 

"My goodness, whatever was that about," said Flitwick.

"I've a good idea. Excuse me," said Lupin, as he headed toward the dungeon.

Lupin pitched the door to the Potions classroom open. Snape was seated at his desk. Lupin slammed the door shut behind him and continued to stand just a few feet in front of the door.

"Severus, what's this about a Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Came crying to you, did she?"

"Yes, quite literally in fact. Did you really make her attempt to brew that convoluted mess?"

"Yes."

"And you told her you hadn't made any on your own?"

"So I did." Snape gestured to the cauldron by his desk. "As you can see, she's ruined it. Better prepare the shack this month, I suppose, Remus."

"You are such a damned ass, Severus. I know you brew the Wolfsbane in your chambers. And I know for a fact you've enough aconite, I saw a huge jug of it in here not two weeks ago. You may be able to pass off that lie to Hermione, but I know better."

Snape stretched his legs out in front of him and looked nonchalantly at Lupin.

Lupin shook his head incredulously. "I can't believe you'd be so cruel as to do that to her."

"Oh please. She well deserved it for her sass this term."

"I haven't seen you in tears over _her_ lately. She's a good girl. She didn't deserve a dose of your asinine mind games. She doesn't play them in a way you're used to."

"She's a braggart and a know-it-all. I merely took her peg down a notch."

"No, Severus. You were cruel." Lupin was almost shouting. "And I know for a fact why it is you harbor this irrational hate for her."

Snape drew his legs underneath his chair, his demeanor frigid. "Shut up, Remus."

"No, I rather think you need to hear this."

"I do not," said Snape viciously.

"They do make quite the triumvirate. They are very much like we were back in the day. Though not as malicious; therein lies the difference. I accept that we were stupid sods, but they are nothing like James and Sirius. Much may Harry look like his father, I assure you he is of a very different breed. They wouldn't have harassed you. "

Snape said nothing.

Lupin spoke softly now. "And yes, she is very…very like Lily."

"Shut up." Snape's voice was calm and quiet.

"Her causes. Her sense of fair play; always helping out the underdog. And of course, she is extremely intelligent. Even more than Lily was, I'm afraid. And that was what attracted you to Lily first, wasn't it?"

Snape turned his chair away from Lupin, back facing him.

"Turn away all you like, Severus, but I know you're listening. You've always been too hard on Harry and Hermione. Why not Ron? Why specifically Harry and Hermione? Dole out your punishments as you see fit, only realize whom it is you're punishing. And what you're punishing them for. You have a childhood grudge that you cannot reconcile, and you are taking it out on what you appear to think is James and Lily all over again."

"Shut up." Merlin, why was he bringing this up? Old wounds didn't need re-opening.

"I will, as soon as I've finished. I know that you did get over her choice in husband. I don't pretend to think you carried a torch for her all these years, but you did still care."

"Remus, _shut your mouth._" Old, long-dead feelings of annoyance and helplessness were swirling about in Snape's mind. Lily. Merlin, what a waste. She'd loved Potter though; he'd accepted that long before they'd married.

Hogwarts' clock tower started to chime in the distance. Remus paused and spoke softly.

"Even though you were still in Voldemort's pocket, I know you came there, that night, trying to save her. I know you loved her at one point-"

Suddenly, the unbidden memories of his childhood tormenters, his ineffective attempt to save the Potters – everything - shot to the surface. In one liquid motion, Snape rose from his chair, spun around, and shouted "_SECTUMSEMPRA_". A burst of light flashed from the end of his wand toward Lupin. His intent wasn't really to harm Remus. By speaking the words aloud, he'd given him plenty of time to bounce the spell back. He'd just wanted to shut him up.

Instead of returning however, Remus sidestepped the spell. Perhaps a hole in Severus's door would teach him not to use such childish ways.

Neither man anticipated the door opening as the last chime sounded. Hermione Granger, here for her fourth night's detention, in a perfect performance of ill timing, caught the full blast of Snape's spell, knocking her flat.

Harry had been a few steps behind her. As she fell, his instincts kicked in immediately, and he pulled his wand out of his robes. The unspoken Expelliarmus flung both Snape's and Lupin's wands from their hands.

"Oh my God, Hermione!" Harry dropped to the floor by her. Blood was pumping out of her right chin, neck, and shoulder. "What the hell is going on?"

Lupin bent over her as well. "Merlin…" 

"Have off!" Snape shoved Lupin over so he could see the wound properly. His face was very pale as he lifted her matted, wet, hair away from her neck. Hermione moaned softly, but seemed to be, thankfully, unconscious.

"Accio!" Lupin summoned his and Snape's wands.

Snape impatiently grabbed his wand and traced it against Hermione's wound. "_Consunus_." 

No reaction. Without hesitation, Snape tried again. 

"_Virescorum_."

Nothing.

"_Certiscaro_!"

"Damn you, save her," screamed Harry.

Snape looked at Harry, taken aback for a second or two.

Seeing a pause, Lupin tried a few healing spells as well, with no luck.

Blood was pouring off of her body and pooling on the cobbled stones.

"This isn't working. We need to take her to Poppy," said Snape, as he conjured a stretcher.

"I'll carry her." Harry picked Hermione up into his arms. Blood ran down her dangling arm and dripped off of her fingertips, onto the floor.

"And what if you drop her? Don't be a stubborn ass, Potter, there's no time. Put her on the stretcher. It's faster anyway," said Snape.

Harry complied, and the three men rushed the stretcher to the hospital wing.


	4. Interrogation

"What the hell is going on?" Ron Weasley shouted as he bounded up the stairwell to face the closed Hospital Wing doors.

Professor Lupin stood in front of them.

Close on Ron's tail was a waiflike Hufflepuff Second Year, who only minutes before had been enlisted by a haggard Remus Lupin to deliver a hastily scrawled parchment to Ron Weasley.

"Are you hurt?"

Lupin looked confused for a moment and then looked down. The front of his pale grey robes were smeared with spots of blood.

"Is that your blood, Professor?"

"No, Ron, it's not."

"Who's?"

"First you've got to calm yourself..."

"Look, shut up and tell me who it is."

Lupin paused for just a moment. "It's Hermione."

Ron's face was expressionless as Lupin hurriedly added, "She's alright though, Ron. She's going to be okay. She's just sleeping in there, she's not in any danger, Poppy merely thought she should sleep, gave her a sleeping potion."

"Let me see her," said Ron.

"Of course. Thank you, Ellery. You may go," said Lupin. The young boy hurried down the stairs.

Lupin seized the handle of the door and swung the doors inward to reveal several rows of empty cots. A small lump occupied the farthest one in the northeast corner. A boy with black hair sat attentively by its side. His shirt was covered in blood as well, only more so, completely soaked through in the front.

Ron rushed to the cot, his long strides crossing the floor in just a few steps.

Harry looked up as he saw him approach.

"Ron!"

Looking down, Ron's brows knotted in anger.

"Who the hell did this?"

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

One could tell a lot by the set of Minerva McGonagall's mouth. When she was suppressing a laugh, her top lip nudged over her bottom. When she disapproved of something, her brows curled up just slightly at the top. And when she was incandescent with rage, her mouth was pursed into the smallest of rosebuds.

As it was now.

"Severus, a student!" 

"I know, Minerva." Snape leaned forward in his chair and rested his forehead on his fingertips.

"How could you be so careless? So irresponsible!" Minerva paced Madam Pomfrey's office impatiently.

"I've already repeated how it happened."

"Again then, please. Tell me again."

"I see no point in that."

Minerva stopped suddenly and walked over to stand defiantly in front of Snape. "Recount the details in full again, you may have forgotten something before. When Hermione's parents ask why their daughter was almost killed by her professor, I'd like to be able to answer them effectively."

Snape sighed. "Very well."

"I was in my classroom with Remus Lupin. We were having an argument."

"A duel? Was it a duel?" Minerva interrupted.

"For the last time, no. It was not a duel."

Minerva looked suspicious. "Continue," she said, as she settled herself into the chair behind Poppy's desk.

"Remus brought up some…old wounds. Some things I didn't care to hear at the time. I told him to stop the conversation several times. He did not. At which point I decided to send a…stronger message his way."

"You tried to kill him."

"Minerva, really, such theatrics aren't necessary. I did not try to kill him. I used my wand, spoke the words aloud, gave him plenty of time to react. I thought he'd block the spell." 

Severus took a deep breath here.

"That's when Miss Granger opened the door, and instead of blocking the spell, Remus moved out of its path. She was hit, she fell, and I took her to the Hospital Wing. And here we are."

"Did you try to heal her, Severus?"

Snape looked a tad indignant. "Of course I did. Remus tried as well."

"Why do you suppose that you were unable to heal her?"

"I'm not a medi-wizard." He stood up abruptly, and walked to the small window in the office.

"Poppy's told me that she had a most difficult time repairing her wound. Severus, I didn't ask you this before. What was the spell?"

Snape paused. "_Sectumsempra_."

Minerva didn't blink. "I'm not familiar with that spell."

"I developed it myself many years ago."

Minerva's mouth dropped a bit. "You used a spell…a spell you yourself authored on someone? That's completely irresponsible, you know v-"

"-Very well that a spell used by the spell's author has a compounded power. Yes, I am aware of that."

"And you used this spell deliberately? Without knowing how to cure its effects?"

Snape's eyes narrowed just slightly. "I've been able to do so in the past."

Minerva's small hand made a fist. She lightly tamped it onto the desk. "Then why, Severus? Why in Merlin's name not this time?"

Snape stepped closer to the window. Pale shafts from the moon fell onto his face. In the distance, fog was rolling off of the lake and onto the shore.

"Unfortunately, I think that my state of…annoyance may have been the cause." Snape paused. "Remus brought up many old memories during our little discussion. Ones I'm afraid I still find rather…upsetting."

Snape hated to say the words aloud, even to someone he trusted. He'd give anything to look back on James and Lily Potter with indifference. Emotion was power, and they, years dead, still had it over him.

It was maddening. And there was nothing that he could do about it.

"Really, Severus, it's not in your nature to get so carried away. But I suppose it makes some sort of sense. A heightened state of fury, compounded with the fact that you are the author of the spell…"

Minerva shook her head slightly. "You're lucky you didn't kill the girl."

Severus watched the fog creep into the corners of the school grounds. "I know."

With a brisk sigh, McGonagall rose from her chair. "I'll simply tell the Grangers the truth and hope for the best. Though I can't imagine how well they'll take it, to say nothing of how Miss Granger's friends may react as well."

Severus crossed to the door that opened into the Hospital Wing and opened it. "I'll be forced to take my chances with them," said Snape somewhat sarcastically. He threw this over his shoulder as he took a step into the Hospital Wing.

Consequentially, he never saw it coming.

After a shocked pause from all those in the room, Snape sat up and dabbed at the blood in the corner of his mouth.

"Weasley, you can't even split a lip properly."

There was no reply from Ron's motionless body as it dangled two feet in the air. Ron's eyes darted from Snape to Headmaster McGonagall, the source of a commanding _Immobulus_ just seconds earlier.

"Mr. Weasley, I will release you if you've calmed yourself enough to refrain from assaulting the staff further."

"Assaulting the staff? Bollocks!" Harry's teeth ground together as he sent Snape a murderous look from his seat by Hermione's hospital cot. He turned back to Hermione. "He almost killed her."

"There now, no one's killed," said Madam Pomfrey as she tucked the bed sheet over Hermione's waist, pausing only to glare at Snape.

Snape lifted himself off of the floor and swiftly dusted the side of his robes. His dark eyes gazed at the small figure under the white sheet.

"_Laxdavus_,_" _said McGonagall.

Ron fell with a clatter to the stone floor. "Now really, Ron, it was an honest accident," said Lupin. He paused. "I think you know as well as I that Professor Snape would not have…willfully hurt Hermione."

"Chuh," said Ron mutinously as he rubbed his elbow. Lupin offered Ron a hand up, and then started speaking soft words of assurance to him.

Snape slowly approached the cot. Underneath the familiar pile of curls was a pale face, the light freckles that normally spattered her nose standing out. Her dark lashes lay on her cheeks as she slept peacefully.

She was wearing a set of loose-fitting hospital robes. The neckline had been pulled aside to reveal a thick, knotted, white scar that jaggedly wound its way down the lower part of Hermione's neck, past the collarbone, and disappeared into the folds of her robes toward her shoulder.

Snape was silent as he instinctively reached to see the rest of the scar.

"Don't touch her," snarled Harry possessively, low enough for only Snape to hear.

"Spare me the wounded lover speech," murmured Snape.

"You murderous bastard." Harry's eyes looked unblinkingly into his.

"Silence, Potter! You may be the bright and darling hero of the Wizarding World, but I am still your professor here, and you will treat me with respect."

"I'll treat you to a shrunken-"

Further pleasantries between the two were interrupted by McGonagall's gasp. "Merlin," she exclaimed, as she pulled back the robe at Hermione's shoulder to reveal the rest of the silvery scar. Luckily, it did not extend much further into Hermione's sleeve.

The scar was about the length of Snape's hand in total. It was hideous.

Minerva tsked. "A scar, Poppy? How so?"

Poppy did not stop mashing something in a mortar with a pestle as she answered. "Best I could do, I'm afraid. I'm not familiar with that spell. I was surprised, frankly, to even be able to close the wound. It bled on ages."

"Is she going to have that scar forever," interrupted Ron.

Madam Pomfrey dipped her wand into the mortar and applied some horrid smelling concoction onto Hermione's scar. "I would hope not, but these sorts of things take time."

Setting down her wand and mortar, Madam Pomfrey wiped her hands absently on her apron. "I'm making every possible effort." She patted Harry on the shoulder. "Hermione's really an extraordinarily lucky young witch. She lost a fair amount of blood, and it took me almost half an hour to heal her up, but I'm confident she'll make a full recovery. Often these scars disappear after a period of time."

Madam Pomfrey glanced significantly at Harry's forehead. "Other times they do not."

Ron knelt by the cot and slipped his hand into Hermione's.

Madam Pomfrey turned to McGonagall. "I'd like to keep her here a night or two, but I see no reason why she can't return to her studies in the next few days. When she feels ready." She turned smilingly to Harry. "You must take her to Hogsmeade some fine weekend. The fresh air will do her good."

Snape rolled his eyes. "If there's nothing else, Headmistress, I have papers to grade. Excuse me," said Snape shortly, as he exited the Hospital Wing.

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

"Really, I think it's going to do a lot for my reputation," said Hermione.

"Oh," said Ron distractedly as he slapped down another card. The two were playing Exploding Snap on the bottom of Hermione's cot.

"Yes. Not everyone's been almost killed by their Potions professor. Perhaps they'll think I've unearthed some vile secret of his." Hermione's legs were curled under her and she was sitting up, eagerly looking at her cards.

"We could tattoo a hippogriff over the scar to match mine," said Harry as he doodled on a pad of parchment in his lap.

"Please, I don't want any foul old copy of your tattoo. I'm thinking a lovely silhouette of Snape to commemorate the day."

"Mmm, 'fraid the scar's not long enough to fit a silhouette of his nose," said Harry thoughtfully.

Ron looked confused. "Scar? Her whole body isn't big enough for that."

Hermione's eyes lit up as she placed a card down, which immediately detonated in Ron's face with a loud popping sound. "Don't call me flat chested, Ron. It's rude to mock an invalid."

Privately, Ron felt that Hermione's chest was perfectly fine. Of course she wasn't as lushly endowed as Lavender Brown, but her body had a respectable shape and curved in all the places it should, if he remembered correctly.

"Invalid! You're in a better mood than you have been in months."

Hermione smiled. "I do feel better since waking up this morning. I think it was that Sleeping Potion Madam Pomfrey gave me. Slept well."

Ron wiped some stray soot from the corner of his eye. "Another game?"

"I've had that potion before I think. Second year. Always felt a bit wrong though, waking up from a sleep without any dreams. Like I'd missed something," said Harry.

"Hmm. Well I never remember my dreams anyway, so there's no loss," said Hermione.

"Never?" Ron sounded a bit incredulous.

Hermione shook her head as she shuffled the cards for another round. "No, not really. I mean I woke up from a nightmare once or twice when I was a kid, but I could never recall what the dreams were or even that I'd had a dream. Just that I woke up scared."

"Well of course you do dream, everyone does," said Ron. "You just can't remember them."

"Of course."

"It's probably because you fill your brain thinking about schoolwork the minute you wake up," said Harry.

"Speaking of which, did you bring me my assignments?"

Harry reached into his book bag and withdrew a small bound packet of parchment. Hermione's eyes lit up greedily as she took it from him.

"Oy, what about our game?"

"Later, Ron," said Hermione dismissively as she untied the ribbon holding the pages.

"Also, this." Harry withdrew a rather large, dusty book that Hermione seized upon rapidly.

"Metal Charming: Moments to Learn, Lifetimes to Master," read Ron read aloud.

"Professor Sinistra sent it along. Figured you'd want to get started on it now."

"Hmm. Seems rather rudimentary…I'm not seeing a lot of charms that even require wands here," said Hermione as she thumbed through the book.

"I told you it was boring as all hell, Hermione."

Papers shuffled as Hermione looked through the rest of her parchment. "Three feet from Professor Flitwick? I've got to get started on this." She paused. "And so should you two."

"Well, I'd say that's the polite goodbye for us, mate," said Harry as he rolled up his pad of parchment and stuck it in his pocket.

"You're getting out tomorrow morning, then," Ron asked.

"Mmm. Yes. I'm eager to get back; I've got a lot to make up for in Astronomy."

Hermione cheerfully waved to the boys as they headed out of the Hospital Wing. It had been nice of them to visit. There was precious little socializing to be had here, most of which consisted of Madam Pomfrey lecturing Hermione for reading too long into the night.

After reading through Flitwick's assignment, Hermione wrote an outline of her paper, jotting down a few notes here and there of things to look up later in the library. The chimes from the clock tower softly toned eleven.

Eleven. Time had passed quickly. It was nice to have done some schoolwork; it felt like she'd accomplished something. Hermione extinguished the lamp by her cot and snuggled into the cotton sheets. They smelled slightly medicinal, like eucalyptus. Hermione breathed deeply and closed her eyes.

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

"Not enough! Not enough I say!"

The horrible old woman was yelling. Her hair was chopped extremely short and was thinning badly on the top, wilting tufts of gray hair whipping around her ears. Her eyes were a very dark blue, so blue they looked almost brown.

The woman turned away for a moment, the nondescript, dung-colored robes she wore turning with her. There was a rather large wart at the corner of her mouth, where her lips met. It waggled as she yelled.

It was frankly a little hard not to stare.

"Honestly, and pay attention too," the woman shrieked, and rapped the cauldron with her cane.

Hermione leaned on the table and looked into the cauldron. Stems of betony swirled in a clear, glowing liquid. She looked up at the old woman, horrified.

I know this!

It's wrong!

Hermione tried to open her mouth, but couldn't.

"Buds! Stems! You never add the buds, not unless it says!" The old witch's voice was grating.

She bopped Hermione's hand with her cane. "And don't lean, you'll sweat into the Cauldron and ruin it all again!"

"It's ruined?"

"Yes, it's ruined, and you're never going to be any good unless you start listening to what whispers to you, instead of that fatuous mind of yours!"

Whispers?

Nothing whispers to me.

"Well? What does it tell you?"

Hermione again tried to open her mouth, and couldn't.

This is ridiculous; I've just got to concentrate. I can open my mouth. Just let me think about it.

"Stop making that look and answer me!"

I What /I look?

I wasn't making any look!

"Answer me! Tell me why you won't listen!"

"I'm ATTEMPTING to tell you," screamed Hermione, right into the old woman's face. Just as her eyes widened in surprise, Hermione heard a small sigh and she blinked.

When she opened her eyes, she was staring at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing, and the first rays of sun were beginning to steal into the windows.


	5. The Journal

"Good morning," said Professor Flitwick as he wiggled into the chair by Snape.

"Mm."

"And how did you sleep last night?" Flitwick shook out a napkin and placed it across his lap.

"Horribly, thank you."

Flitwick chuckled slightly. Snape's mood in the mornings was near legend amongst the staff at Hogwarts.

Snape poured his usual mug of coffee and reached for a plain scone as he scanned the slowly filling Great Hall.

There.

Hermione Granger bounced into the Hall with Harry Potter at her side. Apparently he had just said something amusing, as she laughed quite loudly and smiled.

"Heard about that business with Miss Granger. Horrible stuff," said Flitwick. "She seems fully recovered, I see."

"Yes…truly most unfortunate." Snape did not elaborate on whether he meant the incident or the successful recuperation.

"I'm glad to see it," said Professor Sinistra quietly. "She's going to have a daunting amount of things to learn before June."

"Oh really? Has she expressed interest in being a Star Charter or the like?" Flitwick politely asked.

"No, actually, metal-charming!"

"You're joking! Well, I suppose there's no accounting…"

Loathe hearing this conversation yet again, Snape abruptly pushed back his chair and left the table.

Deducting twenty points from a Hufflepuff in the hallway did little to brighten his mood. Neither did a ten-minute diatribe delivered to the third year Gryffindors. Put succinctly, Snape was in a rotten mood, and all of his usual bright spots in the day did little to cure his temper.

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

Hermione arrived in the Astronomy tower a few minutes before class was about to start. She walked over to Professor Sinistra who was seated at her small mahogany desk.

"Professor, I'd like to thank you for sending the book along." Hermione gestured to the one that Harry had given her yesterday. "I believe I've got a fairly good start on the material."

"I'm certainly glad to have you back in my class, Hermione. As well as to hear that you've recovered from your unfortunate accident." Professor Sinistra smiled kindly at Hermione. "I hope the book was able tell you a little about what you're getting into."

"Yes, well. From what I read, I think metal-charming is going to be a match for me. A real challenge as well as an important position that I can bring much insight to."

Stifling a cough that sounded strangely like a snort, Professor Sinistra nodded. "Oh excuse me. I, ah, certainly hope you find it enjoyable. Now, here we are."

Professor Sinistra handed Hermione a small book covered with gray watered silk.

"Your dream journal."

The book was about the length and width of her hand and the inside was filled with creamy vellum.

"It's lovely. Thank you."

"Well it's not exactly a gift. In my class, we record our dreams and then look for elements belonging to whichever current Astrological House."

Hermione had a rather dubious look on her face. "Horoscopic astrology? Isn't that a better fit for…divination?" Her mouth twisted distastefully on the last word.

Professor Sinistra's tinkling laugh echoed off of the walls. "Hardly. We aren't predicting the future here…that's what Divination would have to do with more. No, the dream journal is more a less another way of tracking the influence of the stars on our every day life. Dreams are one of the most powerful tools a person has. That goes for Muggles and Wizards, but I'm sure you knew that already, my dear."

Hermione looked down at the book and nodded. "Funny that we'll be studying dreams…I've had some particularly vivid ones lately."

"Oh?" Professor Sinistra's perfect black brows wrinkled slightly.

But before Hermione could reply, the tower door banged open, and a few Slytherin's entered loudly.

Hermione shook her head quickly. "It's fine. Thank you for the book, Professor," said Hermione as she took a seat on the right side of the tower.

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

Hermione was surprised to find her Astronomy classes a pleasant addition to her school curriculum. By recording her dreams, Hermione was able to recognize the subtle impact of the night sky in the subject of her dreams. While the lessons weren't anything she would deem challenging, necessarily, over the next few weeks she found she enjoyed the rather scientific aspects of a subject she had previously disliked so much in Divination.

Perhaps it was because she was concentrating so adamantly on her dreams that she was able to recall them with such lucidity upon waking. She wrote often in her little book and thought that she would enjoy keeping this journal when she graduated from Hogwarts and continuing her study of the subject as a hobby.

Most of her dreams were rather silly and cursory. Like being at home with her parents, looking for something at Hogwarts, playing a game with Harry and Ron, etc. One mortifying dream featured her kissing a Muggle pop star in a limo. Hermione had written of that as little as she could. Of particular interest to her were several reoccurring characters that surfaced often of late in the night for her. One was the old crone that Hermione had first dreamt about in her hospital bed. Another was a rather crotchety fellow with spectacles that lisped when he spoke. The third was a pregnant woman with a large sunhat obscuring her head, no matter how Hermione tried to twist her way to see her face.

Unfortunately, the past three weeks had not been good to the scar on her shoulder. It was still as abominably hideous as it had been the first day, only barely starting to fade at the edges though Hermione was dutifully applying the salve to it as instructed by Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was urged to be patient, and she really was trying. The boys were good about it though, teasing her gently of course, and not allowing anyone else to speak a word of it to her face. Hogwarts, had a field day with what bits of the story had surfaced, mainly through Ellery Minche, the young Hufflepuff who delivered Ron Weasley to the hospital wing. His gossip exclusive garnered him celebrity for the better part of the month. At which time his story had grown to epic proportions, involving a drunken Snape accosting Harry and Hermione in his classroom, and Hermione selflessly throwing herself in front of Harry, to protect her lover.

McGonagall had said that the less said the better, and that she would appreciate it, I please /I if the three of them wouldn't speak of the incident to the students. Those that did ask Harry and Hermione of what happened received the unmistakable brush-off. Harry would mutter unintelligibly under his breath before turning away, and Hermione flatly refused to talk of it, saying she had homework or somewhere else to be, whilst rolling her eyes.

Luckily, three weeks had passed, which in a school full of teenagers, is a lifetime. Hermione would be eternally grateful to Ravenclaw Valora Grey who shaved her head and tattooed a jellyfish on her back two days ago. Hermione's story was long forgotten in the wake of this newest scandal.

So, finding peace when for weeks she had been plagued with curious questions and idiotic insinuations, Hermione felt it safe to return to doing her homework where she preferred, in the Gryffindor Common Room instead of holed up on her squashy bed with the curtains drawn.

"Have a good day, Hermione," a simpering Lavender Brown asked as she doodled hearts on the margins of her assignment.

"Yes, thanks." Hermione frowned slightly at Lavender's ink splotches.

The two girls continued to work quietly in the common room. Harry and Ron were at Quidditch practise, and while Hermione didn't particularly mind Lavender on occasion, she had always preferred to do her homework alone.

"When will Ron be done, d'you think?" Lavender slid the feathery end of her quill up and down her nose.

"Um." Hermione's mind had been completely absorbed in her essay for Professor Flitwick. "I'm not sure. It depends."

Lavender did not respond to this, as she was too busy sneezing. "Stupid quill," she grumbled, and sneezed again. "Where is my tissue?" She reached for her book bag, heaved it onto the table, and began rooting around in it.

Hermione jumped out of her seat rather abruptly and grabbed her parchment. "Lav, I've forgotten that I've got to be…somewhere. I'll be back in a bit." She exited the room hastily before Lavender could offer to accompany her.

She walked briskly down the corridor and down a short flight of stairs. She badly wanted to finish the assignment whilst her thoughts were organized for it. And of course, she hadn't remembered to grab her quill in her haste. Blast. Hermione made a hard right and headed down a spiral staircase and two long corridors. She reached a small alcove off the side of the hallway. It was about the size of a small closet, paved over with the same cold granite that was so abundant at Hogwarts. In the middle of the alcove was a large bust of suffragette and witch V. Margaret Fair. Behind the statue was a window with thick drapery. Hermione quickly stole behind the statue, and sunk to the floor. Hermione had found this small corner in her first year as an alternative to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was rare that anyone ever had reason to pass by this area, and consequentially Hermione used it when she absolutely had to get some work accomplished. She reached her hand up and ran it along the edge of the statue until her hand greedily closed around a quill. Excellent. She thought she'd left one the last time she'd been here.

Hermione worked on her essay until light no longer came through the window she was facing. From this vantage point, Hermione could see the front gate of Hogwarts. It was actually rather boring, which was good for her concentration. She sighed and rolled up the completed essay, which was on her lap. She tucked it into her bag and grabbed her dream journal. Hermione wanted to jot down a detail she had remembered at lunch today. The crone was wearing a different outfit in her dream last night – a graduation robe. She scribbled it down quickly and clapped the book shut. Hermione stood up and shook out her skirt. She tucked the quill back into the rim of the statue and turned out into the hallway, with her journal still clutched in her hand. Hermione fumbled with the latch on her book bag, muttering about the broken buckle when she suddenly slammed into something very solid.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Ten points for inattention." Snape was looking directly down at her. "Granger, it's dangerous to walk mindlessly."

"It's dangerous to walk into classrooms as well, I've found."

"Walking is not the issue. Mindlessness is." He stared at her very pointedly.

"Tell me more about this subject. You seem to be an expert."

His eyes narrowed and flicked to the alcove behind her. "Another ten. Surely, you know very well that the statues are off limits to students. Even ones who enjoy deliberately flouting the rules."

"It's impossible to get any work done in Gryffindor Tower, at the moment."

"That is not my problem, Miss Granger."

"I realise that, I am simply attempting to tell you why-"

"Excuses are meaningless."

"It's not an excuse! In fact, several of the other professors know that I study here on occasion."

"What the other professors allow is not the issue. The issue is whether or not a hallway alcove is the proper place for a group study session," said Snape.

"Study session? No one ever comes here but me!" Hermione gestured exasperatedly with her arms.

At which opportunity Snape swiftly grabbed the book out of her right hand.

"Sir!"

"What's this, Granger?" He opened the book and flipped through the first few pages.

A red flush bloomed up the sides of her neck and onto her cheeks. She remembered Harry and Ron's advice from her encounter with Snape last month and clenched her fists tightly.

"It's my dream journal for Astronomy, sir." Hermione spoke in a singsong tone, her rage barely disguised.

"Are you certain?"

Hermione's mouth popped open for a moment before she promptly shut it. "I assure you it is, since it's written in my hand."

"It looks suspiciously like a library book to me. And I'm afraid your record of honesty leaves little to be relied upon."

"Excuse me?"

"Your trustworthiness, madam." He enunciated the words to increase their effectiveness. "Put simply, you cannot be trusted."

She felt numb, and Hermione was quite certain that the blush drained out of her face in rapid flow at this comment. She spoke softly. "Surely you're joking. I can't believe you would possibly say something like that to me of all people."

"There are many that would vouch for my statement. My personal ingredients cabinet from several years ago would be a specific example."

Hermione's mouth popped open again.

Snape's lips smiled at her expression. "I'll see this book returned to the library. If, as you insist it is, indeed your I journal /I , I will return it to you."

Hermione regained her power of communication. "Sir! I-"

Snape cut her off with a swift toss of his hand as he pivoted and headed for the stairwell. Hermione had no choice but to return to Gryffindor Tower.

center ------------------------------------------------------------- /center 

Shit, damn, brimstone and hellfire. Snape's forehead was clammy and cool with sweat as he flipped through the little gray journal. He was seated on his favorite chaise in his quarters. It was all here, just like he'd suspected…like he'd dreaded. In her perfect script-like handwriting. Damn! It hadn't dawned on him for a few weeks, and then it took him almost another week to think of a way to confirm his suspicions without letting anyone know. He had been watching the girl for the past few days when he could, in wait for the perfect moment. Now however, he almost wished that he hadn't found it and taken the book from her.

He seriously contemplated throwing the book into the fire, but realised that it would be entirely fruitless, as much as it would soothe him for the moment. He closed the book and set it by the chaise and took another deep drink from his brandy glass.

There were several dilemmas that he now faced.

One, finding some sort of potion or spell to speed Hermione Granger to full recuperation.

Two, finding some sort of potion or spell that would allow him not to sleep until Dilemma One was solved.


	6. Vulnerugum

Snape had served several apprenticeships in his lifetime. Such things were necessary and required for the advancement of his position, though with most he felt as if he could have taught the master a few things. He only considered one to have been truly beneficial to his practise; the one served under Miss Ophelia Celestia-Smith.

He couldn't help the wry twist at the corner of his mouth whenever he thought of her. The old bat had been insane. She had lived in a dilapidated house in an abandoned corner of Sheffield with twenty parakeets and a Phoenix named Steven. Snape had lived in her gardener cottage for the better part of a summer break from Hogwarts, hoeing her garden by day and gathering what bits of potion-related wisdom he could at night. Despite her lunacy, she was a brilliant witch, and underneath her garbled ramblings was true insight into the potions process.

Ophelia was a hermit, rarely leaving her home. She had no friends and no family. She did not even communicate by owl to anyone. What's more, she had died almost 12 years ago. Hermione Granger would have been around age five at the time, toddling about in sneakers with an Algebra book in tow, no doubt.

So it was highly unlikely that there could be any earthly imaginable reason for Hermione to have written of Ophelia in her dream journal. It was also unlikely that Hermione would have dreamt coincidentally of someone so remarkably like Ophelia. She had mentioned the wart by her mouth, her distinctive hair and eyes, even used her vernacular and described the house that Ophelia had lived in.

Even more disturbing to Snape was Hermione's accurate recounting of the only time Snape had lost his temper with Ophelia. He had ruined a batch of Wolfsbane, and had taken his frustrations out on her, screaming directly into her face.

Again, there was no other possible explanation for Hermione knowing this information. Hermione had dreamt of a situation that he himself had experienced, in detail. An incident he had not shared with anyone, the only other witnesses to which were either dead or a parakeet. But how had she known such a thing?

Snape had his suspicions, and if they were proved true, he needed to immediately find a basin to be sick in.

It was all falling into place with excruciating clarity. For the past few weeks Snape had dreamt incessantly of the most asinine situations. While it was a welcome respite from Snape's generally dreary and often horrific nightmares, he did not relish the new direction of his dreams, which were including a great deal of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. At first he'd thought little of it, and attributed it to nothing more than the crowning glory to a rotten week. But Snape's new dreams did not cease after one week, two weeks, then three. When he dreamt he was in the back of an automobile begging to be kissed by a limp boy of 18 with poofy lips and blond hair, he realised that there was indeed something very wrong going on.

He was fairly certain that both he and the girl were having some sort of shared consciousness during sleep. After reading a few research journals in his possession, Snape decided this was without question because of the scar that he had given Hermione. There were several documented cases of what was scientifically referred in the wizarding community as a Vulnerugum; a bond formed by a wound.

A scowl of frustration crossed his face. The only reason the scar even existed is because he had stupidly let Remus goad him into anger. And he had cast a spell _that he had authored_ whilst in that keen state of fury.

It was the height of utter idiocy, and Snape could not help cursing himself inwardly for his foolish actions. And now he would have to bear a flighty girl intruding upon his thoughts and dreams until he could find a way to either break the bond or heal the scar. And who knew how long either would take? Some scars never-

Snape jolted himself to an upright sitting position on his chaise. Of course. He leaned back and his lips turned into a mirthless mockery of a smile. Some scars never healed…much like the scar on a certain forehead of an irritating Gryffindor. It was entirely possible that this…bond…between Hermione Granger and he was not unlike that which had existed between Voldemort and Harry Potter. His chest quivered as he gave a bitter chuckle. Potter had been tied to the Dark Lord. And tied to Snape himself now…Potter's dearest friend and confidant and probable future mate. Possibly for the rest of Snape's remaining life; wait. Not just his life any longer. Unless her scar was healed completely, his life was now inextricably tied with that of a young girl who despised him.

As well she should. He was not a pleasant man, nor a happy one, and he did not long to be saved or forgiven. Just left alone.

Snape shook his head briefly, moving on to methods of decreasing her interference in his brain. Realistically speaking, he knew that there was no way to prevent himself from sleeping, as much as he'd wish it to be so. The strain on his body would be too great. But he did think with a certain amount of concentration, he could utilise Occlumency to keep Hermione out of his mind when he did sleep. Besides, he had never been one to sleep more than four or five hours a night, which left a rather small window of vulnerability.

It all made a sort of sense. He should probably test his hypothesis, however, before being persuaded completely. But how could one test such a thing?

Snape took another sip of his brandy and stared at the fire for a long moment.

A small smirk spread onto his face for a brief moment before disappearing. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione was having a lovely, lovely dream. She was in the center of a meadow surrounded by a large forest, and across from her sat a very attractive boy. He had golden eyes and shimmery skin, and was cracking wry jokes that were making her laugh.

Suddenly, she heard a loud snap. Hermione spun around and looked at the forest. It had sounded somewhat like a large tree being split in half. All seemed well however.

"What was that?" Hermione asked the boy when she turned back to him.

Except the boy did not answer her. Professor Snape, forbidding and foreboding and dressed all in black, was standing in front of him, glaring at her.

"That was the sound of the door to your future closing."

"P-professor Snape?"

"Obviously."

"What did you mean about the door?"

"Simply what I said."

"But I don't understand you."

"Let me be clearer then." Snape took a step closer to her. "The Headmistress told me this afternoon that you are going to fail all of your classes this term.

"What?!" Hermione shrieked.

"Yes, she hasn't told you yet…but she will tomorrow."

"How!?"

"I'm afraid you allowed yourself to fall too far behind during your stay in the Hospital Wing."

Snape almost felt guilty as he saw Hermione's face fall. Almost.

"No…I was only in there a few days!"

"Sometimes that is all it takes. Good luck to you in your future endeavors. I've heard the Knight Bus is hiring at the moment." And Snape was gone. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Wow, Hermione. You look really terrible." Ron's face was a mixture of pity and fascination at breakfast the next morning.

"Thank you, Ron. I think you look really great today," hissed Hermione, barely containing herself from happily ripping him to pieces. She threw her slice of toast down onto her plate, and tossed Ron a dirty look. She walked to the rear of the hall where Headmistress McGonagall was currently speaking with Sir Nicholas.

"That was really rude, Ronald." Ginny frowned at her brother.

"I didn't know she'd take it so personal," defended Ron. "Anyway, stay out of it, bossy boots."

Ginny didn't argue back, as she would have done vociferously just one year ago. Instead she quietly shook her head and continued eating her breakfast, though the amount of food on her plate did not decrease.

"I'd stop trying to figure 'em out, Ron," said Harry, sitting next to Ginny. He never stopped writing on the small pad of parchment in his lap as he spoke.

"Eh. It's not even hardly worth it," said Ron nonchalantly.

"Ugh." Ginny slammed down her fork and picked up her schoolbag. "Grow up, Ronald," she spat, before leaving the table.

"See what I mean? It was just a joke, and she gets all cheesed off."

"I know, mate. Girls are…" Harry paused here for a moment. "…perplexing." 

"Ooh, good word," said Ron.

"Thanks." 

Ron leaned across the table to look at Harry's lap. "What are you writing? You're always writing on that thing lately."

Harry colored slightly. "Um…game plans. For Quidditch."

In truth, Hermione did look quite haggard this morning, with dark circles under her eyes and a most unbecoming scowl on her face. It was obvious even to someone half a room away, someone who was watching her intently from the staff table as she approached McGonagall at the back of the hall.

"No, Hermione, I've not heard anything of the sort." The Headmistress looked rather exasperated. "You couldn't have fallen behind that much in just a few days. No, everything I have heard from your professors is that your marks will probably break the Ravenclaw records. How could you possibly think you'd be even close to not passing?"

Hermione sighed in relief. "Thank you, Professor. I just had…a bad dream about it, and it seemed quite real."

McGonagall stared at Hermione very seriously for a moment.

"Hermione, I wonder at your stress level. Perhaps you should see Madam Pomfrey this afternoon."

"No thank you." Hermione smiled reassuringly. "Everything is fine."

"There's no shame in it, you know. You have had a trying series of weeks."

"No thank you, ma'am, but I appreciate the concern. Good-bye."

And at the staff table, Snape looked grim as he knew that his hypothesis was indeed confirmed. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Snape thought the actual process of connecting himself to Hermione Granger's dreams was amazingly straightforward. If it had been this easy for Voldemort to enter Potter's head, then it was no wonder that Potter had been able to defeat him on his own. It simply required a certain amount of concentration in a quiet area, somewhere where he could lie down and stretch out to relax, and of course that the girl herself was asleep and dreaming.

Then, as he quieted his mind, he was able to feel a thought, a sort of dull buzzing in the back of his brain that did not belong to him. By probing gently at it, he would be able to enter Hermione's dream. It was nothing like being in a corporeal world – Snape knew he was still really sitting on his chaise or in his bed. But, much like when he practiced Legilimency, he was able to see quite clearly in his mind what was occurring as well as the added ability to change that which he had control over. For instance, if the girl had dreamt of, say, a cat, he had no influence over the cats actions. But with a bit of concentration, he could add a mouse to the dream, which might ultimately interact with the cat. Snape had done this several times by introducing things like a large essay with a zero at the top in red ink.

It made sense that when he had been unaware of the situation that he could only see her dreams through the girls' point of view. But now that he was lucid upon incoming, he was able to appear as a separate entity, as himself in her dream.

Ever since that first evening when he had discovered that he could insert his presence into her dreams, he had done so every night without fail. He had little trouble picking out her thread of thought from the hundreds of his own at night. It was much easier to enter her mind than any ordinary Legilimency subject, even with he in his chambers in the dungeon and Hermione, presumably, in her bed in Gryffindor Tower.

And more than once he had asked himself why he was bothering to enter her mind at all. To which he had no answer, of course, other than he was very bored and found it deeply satisfying to ruffle her feathers each time he went in. Sometimes he stayed only for a few minutes before exiting. Other times it might be an hour or two, depending on the level of interest sustained. He did not hassle her as badly as he did that first night, finding that his mere presence was often enough to cause her to be suitably uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" the dream Hermione would scream at him.

"None of your business," he would say nastily. "200 points from Gryffindor, now…as you were."

And Hermione would return to whatever task she had been performing before he had gotten there. Really, for most of the duration of his visit, she paid little attention to him, instead focusing on whatever antics were occurring in her dream.

Snape was careful to not allow himself to sleep too deeply in fear of opening his mind to her. He had already removed his most volatile memories from his mind two years ago upon attempting to train Potter in Occlumency, but he still disliked the idea of the girl poking about in his subconscious. Besides which, he couldn't remove every bad memory.

As for his interaction with Hermione in the waking hours, it was still limited and infrequent, which was as he preferred.

One afternoon when he had been at it a few weeks, he chanced to pass by Hermione in the hallway on the third floor. Hermione's eyes widened but she did not say a word and instead increased her walk to a jog in order to pass him.

"Granger."

She stopped walking but did not say anything. Snape saw her shoulders droop a few inches.

"Sir."

Snape turned around and walked over to Hermione, facing her. He paused, looking at her face. She, as usual, looked away, to the right side of the hallway. Her eyelashes were rather long and thick, and he could not see her eyes. 

"Granger. Look at me when I am addressing you, if you please." The sarcastic tone of his voice negated the polite words he spoke.

Hermione expelled the breath she did not know that she had been holding. She cocked her head onto her shoulder and raised her eyes to meet Snape's very slowly.

Not unlike the sun, Hermione had not allowed herself to look directly at Professor Snape for quite a long time. Probably, the last time was in the musty parlour of 12 Grimmauld Place, after the defeat of Voldemort. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Remus Lupin had met to discuss the disposal of the remains of the Horcruxes.

Hermione had proposed that she take the items to the Ministry and have Arthur Weasley and his contemporaries consider the best way to get rid of them. They were, after all, used to dealing with objects of a sensitive magical nature. Hermione was not as noticeable as Harry, and could take the Horcruxes there by train and cab, which was less prone to magical interference. And of course, she would be the best suited to navigate Muggle London. Lupin and Harry had thought it a good plan until…

"Absolutely not," snarled Snape from a darkened corner of the parlour.

Hermione schooled her face to mask all outward betrayal of surprise. She hadn't seen him there before he spoke.

Lupin however, had obviously known he was there, as he turned to Snape and said, "You think it too dangerous, Severus?"

"Not at all. I simply do not think it an appropriate activity for Miss Granger."

"On what grounds?"

"I feel that such an undertaking might be better suited to someone with more...experience."

Harry blinked a few times. "You're joking. Hermione's done just as much as I have."

Snape sneered and spoke the next words whilst looking directly at Hermione "No. She remains largely untested in battle. We have no way of predicting her reaction if attacked."

He paused here to let the full effect of the words settle in.

"It should be someone that can be depended upon."

Her cheeks stayed pink after _that_ little exchange for the better part of the afternoon. Was she not dependable? Her name was practically synonymous with that particular adjective, for God's sake. But, in the end, Snape got his way, as he was often wont to do. Lupin had taken the shattered Horcruxes to the Ministry. And Hermione had remained at Grimmauld Place, furiously knitting several misshapen hats.

So, when Hermione's eyes met Snape's face back in the hallway at Hogwarts, for the first time in the better part of a year, she found herself redefining his features.

He was still pale. He still had a large nose. His hair was still messy and too long, settling over the collar of his black robes. His eyes were large and dark as always, his lips the most expressive part of his face, currently sneering at her. Even that hadn't changed very much.

She concentrated on closing her mind to anything but the banalities of her day whilst staring at him. Hermione was determined not to let anything important eke through. He didn't deserve to know how deeply upsetting to her he was.

Snape looked at her for a moment before reaching into his robes to withdraw a small silver book. He looked at it and turned it over in his hands.

"My journal!"

"Mmm. So you say. I haven't had the time to take it to the library yet to verify your story."

"Story! It's handwritten, it's got my name in the front, it's mine!"

"I have no way of confirming that until I have the time to take it Madam Pince."

"May I have it back, please." Hermione's voice was gritty and stern as she held out her hand.

"No." Snape said this with a touch of incredulity as he walked away.

So, he was not surprised to enter her dream that night and find himself in the middle of some maudlin mockery of a bad Muggle horror film. Snape's lips almost smiled as he saw his dream self hung by the hands with rope, tied to a stone wall in a dank dungeon.

Hermione was standing directly in front of him, wearing a sinister set of black robes, holding a large silver knife.

"Had enough?!" Hermione screamed at the body on the wall, which was covered with small slits of blood.

"Yes, please - I beg you…no more!" The dream Snape began to cry and hung his head.

Hermione took a step towards the wall. "Silence! I have no time or patience for your pleas." She stuck the knife dramatically into the gut of the dream Snape, who made a deep groan. No blood came from the wound, and when she pulled the knife out, only a fine line of blood remained on his body.

It did not surprise him that even in her vengeance dream Hermione was unable to allow herself to be truly cruel. Snape's imagined payback for the Marauders when he was her age was a thousand times more brutal than this.

Suddenly Hermione turned toward him. "And you!"

Snape was a little taken aback that he was being addressed, as she usually paid no attention to him when he was careful to stay out of her way during her dreams.

"Yes?"

"Why?" Hermione's eyes looked up into his, questioning.

"Why what? Be specific, Granger."

Hermione dropped the knife. "Why are you so horrible to me?" He was surprised to see her face crumple a bit; her eyes squint and mouth turn down at the corners. 

Snape was a little stunned that he did not have a quick answer for this question. Obviously it didn't matter what he said; the girl wouldn't likely remember what he had alleged in this dream, and if she had she would chalk it up to her subconscious. 

But he found himself not wanting to lie to her for some reason…yet he knew he was unable to offer any sort of solid explanation that would satisfy her. He had nothing concrete, just bits and pieces that, when added together, formed a sort of crackpot reasoning, like the fact that she was a know-it-all, that she corrected his spelling once, that she stole from his stores years ago, that she was sassy to him.

So he answered truthfully. "I don't know why."

Hermione snorted disdainfully. "Well, if there's no particular reason…I really wish you'd stop." She walked over to the wall and released the dream Snape from the rope holding him.

"It's truly quite-" began Hermione, as she turned around to address Snape again, but was surprised to find that he was no longer there


	7. The Hogwarts Seven

AN - this chapter includes somewhat graphic description of death, including that of small children. 

------------------------------

"I had a dream about your Mum last night," said Hermione as she poured herself a cup of tea. They were in the Great Hall so early that the house elves didn't even have food on the tables yet.

"M-my mum?" Harry's sleep-bleary eyes focused on Hermione's face.

"Mmm. Dreamt she was a painting. She told me to fix my hair."

Harry chuckled. "I'm sure that's something she said often enough to my dad in real life."

"Wish I'd thought to ask her for advice on just how to do it." Hermione patted her hair. While it was nowhere near the bramble patch of her youth, her hair was still…challenged. It took constant vigilance to make it go into piece-y somewhat-curls.

"I think it looks nice," said Harry.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks."

It was Saturday morning in the Great Hall. Hermione was never one to sleep in, and it was bright and early in the day, the sun shining through the nearly empty hall. Only a few other students were up, chattering softly to their friends.

Harry did not prefer to get up at this time of day, she knew, but he did like having a few minutes alone to eat, without stares or autograph requests. Hermione felt they both enjoyed the time to talk, alone, as well. Though they'd never hurt…anyone by saying it aloud.

They both adored Ron, of course, but Harry and Hermione had depended on each other in battle. Depended on each other in a way that few people could understand. It was no secret that they were a well-matched pair; he was the fighter, she the brains. Harry had told her once that had it not been for her, Voldemort would still be around. She'd laughed it off, but he had shook his head and stared at her.

"I'm not joking, Hermione. I'd be dead right now if it weren't for you." Green eyes looked seriously at her.

She started to get uncomfortable under his stare. "Okay, I believe you. Now blink, for heaven's sake".

No one understood their relationship. Most days Hermione herself didn't.

"Have you been sleeping better?" Harry's polite question pulled her back to the present.

"Yes, thank you," said Hermione. "Much better."

"What was causing it, you think?"

"I've really no idea. I've just been staying up a bit later, and I seem to have less nightmares when I do fall asleep," said Hermione.

"Less sleep, just the thing you need," said Harry.

"Now really, I'm not _elderly_. It's not a lot less. I average 4 or 5 hours, I'd say." Harry had matured so much in the last year, especially after he broke up with Ginny. Hermione thought him much more deliberative, slower to anger, prone to thinking of others. He was turning into an adult, a man. One she rather respected instead of feeling the need to baby-sit.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know how you function. Especially with your course load."

"I take a nap when I can. And please. Schoolwork's nothing without Potions," said Hermione. She couldn't help flicking her eyes to the Staff Table, though there was no one there.

Harry sighed. "Don't remind me about that. I'm still angry that you got out of there."

"Is it very bad?" Hermione smiled wickedly.

Harry tugged a piece of her hair playfully. "Stop being _rotten_, you're only asking that to rub it in and I know it."

And Hermione had laughed freely, tossed her head back and put a hand to her chest. It felt so good to laugh now. She had never in her life had the ability to feel this lighthearted. She relished every time she had a chance to laugh now.

"Mmm, hello Harry. Hermione. What are you laughing at?"

Hermione looked to where the voice was coming from, but its' owner was already easily identifiable. No one spoke in that wispy voice but Luna Lovegood.

"Hello, Luna," said Hermione politely. Hermione still found Luna mystifying and at times irritating, but she was figuring more and more into their social circle, so she'd learned to play nicely.

"Hi, Luna," said Harry. He smiled at her. "I was just giving Hermione a hard time about dropping Potions."

"I heard about that. Metal-charming surprised me. I didn't at all think that you were a member of the Comstock Clan."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's brow wrinkled.

"The Comstock Clan, they're a very old and very rich wizarding family who's deeply infiltrated into all metal-charming positions..."

Luna tugged on her bottle cap necklace absentmindedly.

"…they charm objects to spy on influential Wizengamot members, and then they report it all back to the Ministry…"

Hermione strained her eye muscles to keep them from rolling.

"…and since you're becoming a metal-charmer, you must at least be a cousin by marriage or something, since they don't take anyone outside of the family..."

She couldn't help glancing at Harry quickly, who had a sort of highly amused grin on his face.

"..but you're a nice person, so I suppose maybe they're turning a new leaf? Well, it looks as if there are hot scones at my table now. I'll go and have some. Goodbye." Luna didn't wait for an acknowledgment of anything she'd said before she drifted off toward the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione shook her head. "The things she comes up with…honestly! I do wonder though that she heard about metal-charming. I didn't think it was round the school yet."

There was a long pause before Harry spoke. "Well, I suppose it is, then, isn't it, if Luna knows."

"Yes," said Hermione absently, because her mind was now focused fully on a large plate of toast and the fried tomatoes that appeared lovingly beside it.

Neither noticed that the Potions Master, who had been near the back of the hall, slipped out the doors and down into his dungeon.

--------------------------------------------------

He hadn't been in her dreams for nigh on two weeks. The first week was self-enforced. Why should he visit her dreams? They were ridiculous, childish tripe, and he was above them. It was nothing more than boredom that caused him to enter them. Snape had stayed out of them to, perhaps, prove to himself a little that he didn't have to enter them if he chose not.

The second week he had tried to no avail. He was never able to feel that soft presence in the back of his mind that was she, sleeping. He had tried every night that week to enter, and nothing.

Perhaps the scar had been mended? Perhaps the girl had found a way to suppress her dreams? But now he knew, through careful listening in the Great Hall, that the solution was much less sophisticated. She'd just been going to bed later, probably long after he'd gone to sleep.

Snape had been about to approach Harry and Hermione and break up their lovely post-coital repast with some important information. But then Luna Lovegood had started speaking to them and there was no student…no _person _at Hogwarts more infuriating to him than that ditzy, dreamy Ravenclaw who didn't even have the good sense to be offended when he insulted her.

So he'd yelled to Lupin through the fireplace that he wasn't able to find any of the younger Order members and it'd be up to him to tell them about the meeting in Hogsmeade that night.

Apparently Lupin had got a hold of someone, because at precisely 8 pm, in trumped what the papers called the 'Hogwarts Seven'; Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Dean. Severus didn't relish that seven students of Hogwarts were included in the Order, but he had been voted down, and besides even he could admit that it would seem rather foolish to exclude a few of them, like Potter and Granger, who had actually contributed. But seven did really seem too much, and Longbottom surely was someone's idea of a joke. There were at least 25 of people in their party now, well overwhelming several tables at the Three Broomsticks, causing glances from patrons.

"Rosmerta!" Tonks whistled her very chav-ish best at the proprietor. Rosmerta approached the group and smiled softly. She'd lost most of those beautiful curves that Ron had so admired as a young man. Not quite recovered from her Imperius Curse of last year.

"Got anywhere more private for the lot of us?" Tonks gestured to the large group.

"Certainly. Password is 'nose spray'. You know where my parlour is upstairs." She gestured to the stairs.

Snape was having a hard time keeping his frustration from boiling over. He had papers to grade. But after some struggle and frantic conjuring, they were finally all arranged in the parlour, door warded, everyone seated.

Kingsley Shacklebolt rose to his feet, wearing a dapper set of pinstripe robes. Shacklebolt had been chosen to lead the Order, probably because he had the deepest voice of all of them. The chatter stopped the minute he stood and put one large hand into the air.

"Quickly, I want to extended a thank you for coming. This was an imposition to all of us, I know, but we have acquired some disturbing information regarding Lucius Malfoy and his whereabouts," said Shacklebolt.

Granger whipped out a quill and pad of parchment, hand poised to take notes. Good Merlin.

"Moody, assisted by Doge and Tonks, as you all know, has been attempting to track Malfoy since the events of last summer."

Snape thought quickly of 'The Battle' as the entire wizarding world referred to it. Some battle. It had been such an anticlimax – no blood running in the streets, no mangled body parts in the grass. Just Potter, a smashed Horcrux, and the spell Dumbledore had specified in his journal. No one was more surprised than Snape to find themselves in one piece after it all. He hadn't thought he would live through it.

Shacklebolt continued. "We've always known that Lucius Malfoy was traveling with his wife, Narcissa. Up until this point, she was our best hope for them being caught. We assumed she would slow him down. Not much of a witch, I'm afraid."

McGonagall shook her head. "She was always more interested in glamours than spells."

"Moody and his team had done an incredible job of tracking them, all the way to a small cottage in Chelmsford. In the cottage was evidence of a man and woman having lived there for some time, only recently vacated. We discovered the five bodies of a young Muggle family who had owned the house. Murdered." Shacklebolt paused here. "With them was the body of Narcissa Malfoy. Based on the condition of the body, she'd been dead months."

Several of the Order Members' gasped. Ginny Weasley raised her hand and spoke at the same time. "Was she murdered?"

"Of course it's too early to tell, but we think not. We had information though, that Malfoy had been traveling with a woman as soon as two weeks ago. However, utilizing new methods of Muggle technomology thanks to Tonks, we were able to get this Muggle Photograph." Shacklebolt passed a small piece of paper to McGonagall, who was sitting to his left.

"I will tell you now that the photo, which is from several days ago, clearly shows Bellatrix LeStrange in the company of Lucius Malfoy."

All eyes in the room snapped to Hermione Granger.

"W-what?" Granger looked confused.

"No. Nah. Hermione killed Bellatrix in The Battle." Ron Weasley shook his head. "I saw it all with my own eyes."

"Yes, most of us did, Ron, but how many of us made sure she was dead? We all saw the killing curse, but Bellatrix is a well-skilled witch, quite the opposite of her sister. She could have faked it. She could have recovered and left the field. It could have been anything, and I am sorry to say that after Voldemort was killed, the Order, as a whole, failed when it should have secured the field and accounted for all Death Eaters, dead or alive. We are now paying for our oversight," said Shacklebolt.

Shacklebolt looked quite seriously at the photo that was making the rounds about the room.

"We must all be on constant alert to the danger that these two pose. In them, we have both a formidably capable team as well as the core of Voldemort's most loyal followers. They are most dangerous as a rallying cry for those that remain loyal to Voldemort's ideals."

Here Shacklebolt's brow crooked, and he looked slowly around the room. "We must stop them. We cannot afford to lose any more lives, Muggle or Wizard. We cannot allow Lucius Malfoy to take Voldemort's position. We have all worked far too long to fall Voldemort's banner only to have it be picked up by another."

The photo had stopped its' circulation at Granger. Her head was bowed, her hair fluffed over her face. When she raised it, her cheeks were pink and her eyes glossy.

-----------------------------------------------------

The Order meeting continued on around her, but Hermione didn't hear a word. It was as if she was very far underwater, thin sounds trickling into her ears. In her hand, she held the grainy photograph snapped at some petrol station of Bellatrix and Lucius.

It was her. Hermione had thought…oh she was sure that she'd killed her. It had been a righteous kill, in the heat of battle. Bellatrix had been casting back at her, spell for spell, taunting horrible things out of that perfectly formed mouth. And Hermione had caught her in a weak spot. Found a chink in her armor. She'd never felt a modicum of guilt about the death.

Hermione looked at Harry, to the side of her. His eyes were down, his chin resting on his clasped hands. Neville looked like he was ready to cry.

Holding the picture, she thought of the Muggle family that was now dead because of her incompetence. Five people…a mother, a father, three children, probably. Kingsley said they were young. Probably babies. Oh, God.

Hermione vowed to hold her tears until they were out of the pub. She didn't want the Order to see her cry.

Several people tried to stop her as she left. Out of all of the condolences and we'll-get-the-bitch-next-times, only McGonagall had told her what she so desperately wanted to believe.

"Miss Granger…Hermione. This was not your fault." McGonagall had looked at her sternly, mouth pursed.

"Oh, I know, Headmistress. Thank you. Must be getting back!" She'd grinned jauntily, and told Harry and Ron that she needed to do a bit of shopping before heading back to Hogwarts.

They hadn't believed her at first, but she'd talked them out of the idea with the threat of browsing for clothes.

But instead of shopping, Hermione had run all the way to the lake by Hogwarts. Hermione was no athlete, and her side had a stitch in it before she was even halfway there. She tripped twice, only to pick herself up and keep running. She walked round and round the lake in the cool October air, until her cheeks were no longer hot, and the cooled sweat on her skin chilled her to the bone. The moon was high in the night sky before Hermione whispered the password to The Fat Lady, and fell, exhausted and fully clothed into her bed.

But sleep did not come. In her mind, she imagined the names and looks of the Muggles who had been killed. She told herself to stop being silly and not to think of it any more. But the faces, the names, came unbidden, and Hermione was glad that Lavender and Parvati were long fast asleep so as not to hear her crying.

------------------------------------------

How in Merlin's name did the girl function on so little rest? It was near three before she finally fell asleep.

Snape coughed as he found his way through the murky fog that always bit at the edges of Granger's dreams. He saw the faint light up ahead and walked forward.

Suddenly, soft plush was underneath his feet. It was a parlour of some sort with dusty, overstuffed couches. On the walls were pictures of smiling children and adults, snapped at birthday parties and Christmas. Their still faces didn't blink. A Muggle home, then.

He heard voices from the next room. He walked quietly over to the door and turned the handle a bit, careful not to squeak it and alert the girl to his presence.

Snape could see that the inside of the room was that of a child's. Posters of sports stars covered the walls, and a toy box was overflowing in one corner.

On the floor closest to the bed was the body of a man, blood dripping from his ear. A boy of about seven was lying next to him, obviously dead. The floor around their bodies was sopping with dark liquid.

"Please…oh please! Spare my children at the very least!" Snape couldn't see the speaker. Damn it. He opened the door a few more inches.

"Take me if you wish, just…not my babies!" The speaker was a young blonde woman, who was cradling a baby in her arms and a toddler age girl to her leg.

"Rissssse…"

Snape's blood gave a bit of a jolt. Even though it was a just a dream (and not even his at that), it still affected him quite deeply to hear Voldemort's voice.

"No! I won't do this!" He recognized Granger's tearful sob.

"You will do this. You already have." Voldemort's voice was oily and persuasive. How well Snape knew that tone.

Granger began to sob uncontrollably. Wracking, heaving sobs. Sod it. He couldn't see anything. Snape opened the door just enough to slide into the room quietly.

He went unnoticed. Voldemort was facing the young mother. Behind him was Bellatrix, her large smile painted red, like blood dripping from her lips.

Hermione was in front of all of them, her wand held awkwardly in her hand. She was shaking, tremors rushing through her body as she raised another hand to her wand and tried to grip it to her side.

"No my dear, you aren't getting off that easily." Voldemort swished his wand at her arm, and immediately Granger's wand rose again to point at the young mother, who cried out and clutched her children closer to her. Hermione again began to sob.

"The guilty are guilty, precious Mudblood," said Bellatrix, as she leaned by Hermione's face. "You're guilty too. May as well just join us, darling."

Granger's face was completely wet with tears, her eyes crinkled up and when she spoke she was babbling. "P-please, I've already done the two…I can't do more! Oh, ple-ease! I'll do anything!"

"Yes, you will, Mudblood. Imper--!" Voldemort very nearly finished his sentence when a bright flash of light vibrated through the room.

Snape hadn't even realized it had come from him until it was over. He'd not even concentrated specifically on it, only knew that he had raised his wand and was thinking on a spell that Hermione might believe could eradicate this entire situation. This was very clearly a nightmare, and Snape saw only too well where the seeds of it lay.

Gone were Voldemort and Bellatrix, as well as the young mother, the children, the bodies. The setting was changed too, to the hallway alcove where Snape had took her dream diary from her weeks ago. He certainly hadn't thought of that place, must have been Granger.

And Granger! She, of the tear stained, snotty face, had clutched her hands desperately onto his vest and rested her head on his chest for a few seconds.

"Professor…what happened?"

"You are having a nightmare," said Snape.

"Well, I was." She lifted her head and wiped her nose, releasing his vest. "Are you certain though? It felt so very real," said Hermione.

"Stupid girl. Use your mind. Voldemort is dead," said Snape.

"Bellatrix was dead too," said Hermione stoically.

"Stop this melodramatic Gryffindor pity party. If you feel bad about what happened, be of use to the Order. Blaming yourself for events beyond your control is useless."

Hermione looked at him and smiled. "I'm so grateful that you were here."

Snape straightened the front of his robes and took a step back from the girl. This was ridiculous. "Yes, well." And with that, he exited her dream.


	8. Black

thanks so much to vanityfair00, who inspired me to keep on with this story!

--

Hermione was eating porridge. She didn't like it. It was bland, and the consistency not unlike a watery gruel. But its what Parvati had passed to her, was what she had put on her plate, so it was what she ate.

Harry was looking at her seriously from across the table. "Hermione, you can't blame yourself for this," he said quietly. She nodded. She knew he spoke the truth. She just couldn't quite get herself to believe it.

She ate another spoonful of porridge, not tasting it as it slipped down her throat. Harry placed a hand on hers.

"Hermione. Listen to him," said Ron sternly.

Hermione put her spoon down and put her hand flat on the table. Harry put his other hand on it. "Please, Hermione. It's been a rough year so far for you, I know. I'm asking-I'm telling you that this wasn't your fault, and that you have to let it go."

Hermione stared miserably at her porridge. "I know you're right, Harry, I do. It's just…I saw them in my dream last night, and it was awful."

"Still with the dreams?" Ron spoke softly to Hermione at her side.

She nodded.

"It can't help matters, if she can't sleep," said Ron to Harry.

Harry thought seriously for a moment. "How about a Draught of Peace?"

"Nah, my mum used to take that stuff, she was absolutely moony when she was on it. There's the Dreamless Sleep though. It's complicated to brew on your own. You'd have to ask Madam Pomfrey for it," said Ron.

Harry turned back to his breakfast. "Well, that's what we'll get you then. Sound good?"

Hermione nodded. "I hate to take a potion for it, but at this point I'll do anything to be able to sleep properly".

Harry nodded. "Let's try looking something up, maybe. I'll meet you in the library after last class, okay?"

Hermione nodded, and felt the wrinkle on her brow lifting.

The trio walked slowly to their first class of the day, which was double History of Magic. The boy because it was their most dreaded block of class time during the week, slow and dull and seemingly never-ending.

Hermione was walking with her bag on her shoulder, arms folded. She dreaded History of Magic for another reason. Since the class was almost all lecture, Hermione's mind would wander, in a manner. Her Self-Scribbling quill took notes of the lecture as she made small remarks on the margins.

As she sat next to Harry with her hand in her hair, her mind was fraught with her dream last night. She nearly blushed at the memory of how good at it had felt to see Professor Snape there, in the doorway of the dream Muggle house. She knew it was just a dream but the feelings were so very real, so vivid.

Admit it, admit it, she thought, and frowned. It wasn't just her dream last night. Snape had been figuring into her dreams very often for the past few weeks. Usually he was tormenting her in some fashion, but last night…well he had saved her from a very unpleasant scene. One that Hermione was so very grateful had not played itself all the way through.

And then, when she'd shockingly pressed her head against his chest. He had felt substantial – real. She could remember what the fine black cloth had felt like on her forehead, remember the breadth of his arms as she had grasped them, however briefly it had been.

In those few seconds, Hermione had felt comforted. By Snape, of all people. Which was impossible, she knew, but the truth of it stared her in the face, even as she tried to shake the thoughts from her mind with facts on the Dalfinnian Elf Wars and their General Molty.

Hermione lightly ran her hand on her shoulder, over her clothes. The scar that was still knotted there was sensitive, and had faded very little. The very cruel person who'd nearly killed her a few weeks ago was the real Snape. The merciful person who had comforted in her sleep was a figment of her desperate imagination – who knows why he had popped up from her subconscious.

Tonight she'd go to Madam Pomfrey and get a dram of Dreamless Sleep. Tonight she wouldn't dream about her former professor. Hopefully, tonight she wouldn't dream at all.

--

Snape tipped a nip of whisky into his morning coffee. He ate in his room, alone, and very little. He had a splitting headache, which several potions had failed to alleviate, so now he was using a tried and true remedy. He had slept precious little last night. And what's more, he had Potions with the First Year Hufflepuffs in less than an hour. There is only so much that a wizard can be prevailed upon to take.

It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Her dream – one that only an extremely untried witch would have let herself bother with – remained fresh in his memory. The fact that Bellatrix remained alive was indeed troublesome. He of all people understood that.

But Hermione Granger had quite literally fallen to pieces over it. How could anyone take the girl seriously? How could anyone expect him to take her seriously? He thought once more of the way she'd nodded her head into his chest. The feeling, or what he could feel, was light, like a feather on his fingertips. Almost there but not. It was a frustrating feeling.

Snape scowled, and took a long draw from his coffee cup.

--

"Thanks. Really." Hermione grasped the small purple phial in her hands.

"Not too much," said Madam Pomfrey. "Stick to my dosage instructions, please. Two drops under your tongue, just before you sleep"

"I will." Hermione gratefully tucked the phial into her book bag. "Is it habit forming, then?" Hermione answered her own question. "I don't care even if it is. I've got to sleep."

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head curtly. "It's not habit-forming. Ridiculous. That's a very muggle approach to medicine, if I may say."

Hermione's lips twitched. There was no muggle pursuit so hated in the Wizarding world as healthcare.

"Though I don't know many that've stayed with it for very long," said Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm no expert but…it is certainly aptly named. Dreamless Sleep."

"Exactly." Hermione spoke in her satisfied tone of voice, sounding incredibly like her first year self, even to her own ears.

"Yes, but – dreams seem to be a part of our natural selves. You see?"

"No, I don't," said Hermione plainly. "To be tormented and tortured every time I close my eyes? Hardly."

"Well, it seems that there is usually a purpose to such torment. It's a way of the subconscious working something out. And I do worry, dear, that if you plan on taking this regularly there will be some sort of…bottlenecking effect."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Excuse me?"

"As I said, I'm not an expert on this potion…you'd have to speak to Professor Sna-"

Hermione swiftly cut her off. "That's not possible. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, for the potion."

--

Hermione entered Gryffindor tower just as the sun was setting. She was pink-heeked and blowing hair out of her eyes.

"Harry here?" Hermione sounded out of breath as she spoke to Ron, who was playing chess with Neville Longbottom.

"Came up 'bout an hour ago," said Ron distractedly.

Hermione sighed and walked up to the boy's dormitory. Harry was laid out on his bed, writing in that ever-present pad of parchment that he'd been doodling in since school began.

"I'd like to know what's so damn interesting on that thing that you can never pull your eyes off it."

Harry's eyes snapped to hers.

"Especially long enough to consult a clock." Hermione sat down on Ron's bed, and sighed.

"Oh, Hermione…I'm-"

Hermione raised her hand. "It's okay. Honestly."

"It's not. I wanted to help you look through all that…" Harry looked disappointed in himself.

Hermione laid back onto the bed, and looked up into the canopy. Ron had enchanted it to show a series of several winning Cannon's plays…not unlike a screensaver on a muggle computer.

"No, it's okay. There was nothing to look for. I got the Dreamless Sleep from Pomfrey, anyway."

Harry nodded. "I think it'll be best." His hand was still on the pad of parchment.

Hermione looked at it closely. She ld recognize that the handwriting wasn't Harry's. "What is that, anyway?"

Harry colored deeply. "Nothing."

Hermione looked at his face. "Really."

Harry simply nodded his head.

Hermione got up off of the bed. "Alright. I suppose you can just tell me the truth whenever you feel like. You're a rotten liar, I don't understand why you even bother with it anyway."

"Wait. Alright. Just wait." Harry sprang up from the bed, and caught Hermione's hand. "There's something I've been…wanting to say to you."

Harry's eyes were so green…almost mossy and flecked with amber. It still amazed even Hermione, sometimes, how any eyes could look so green. His hand gently pulled hers closer to him, until she was sitting on his bed. Close enough to feel his breath on her cheeks.

"Claudovelum." Harry spoke the spell with a heavy whisper, and the thick velvet curtains that adorned Harry's bed fell around them.

--

There was nothing.

He was in and there was nothing. It was a dark room – no haze, no light. Nothing. He attempted to introduce Lumos into the girl's dream, and…he could not even do that. HE walked forward, backward, and there was nothing.

For a moment, he wondered if the girl was dead. For a moment, he thought about contacting McGonagall or one of the other instructors that might be able to check on her, but no.

He waited. He read a little Chaucer. He went over the notes for next day's lecture. Perhaps she'd just been in a cycle of sleep where there are no dreams. Perhaps this was her, just about to fall asleep.

He went in again, and the blackness greeted him.

He read more Chaucer, until he tired of him and tossed I_Origenes upon the Maudeleyn/I_ onto his bed. He laid down onto his bed, and he tried. Again.

There was the never-ending black, even though the morning light was beginning to creep through the curtains on his window.

Snape finally stood up from his bed, feeling restless and in a decidedly dark mood. He was still far from sleep, even though his eyes felt bleary and dry. He dressed for the day and decided to put in a few hours early patrol of the halls. Typically, deducting a few dozen points from Hufflepuff was a lovely way to start the morning.

Unfortunately it was too early to find much illicit activity, especially considering the small minority of students that enjoyed being up at such a distasteful hour. Very few teenagers enjoyed the early morning, and neither did Snape, for that matter.

He once more pondered his sleepless night, or nights, rather. He'd been in the girl's dreams every night lately, and last night there was either nothing or…perhaps it had been a deep sleep? A potion? Was she very tired?

No matter. Snape continued his silent, speedy gliding through the more quiet halls of Hogwarts. The sun was almost through the high windows of the castle, the hallway blushing over in pink and peach while a pallid gray remained under the windows.

Completely by accident, Snape realized he was not far from Gryffindor tower. Up a short flight of stairs, down a hallway or two…ad just up ahead was the bust of V. Margaret Fair. Snape frowned. The alcove where he'd taken Hermione's journal from her.

She'd refused to give him the dignity of looking him in the face that day. She'd kept her eyes cast aside, just like she always did. As if she were distracted either in thought or by her own simple indifference.

_"Surely, you know very well that the statues are off limits to students. Even ones who enjoy deliberately flouting the rules."_

_"Several of the other professors know that I study here on occasion!"_

He stilled instantly at a…sound. Snape moved into the shadows, letting his eyes adjust to the darker tone of the hallway. He squinted. Was there a person in the alcove? Snape walked quickly.

_"What the other professors allow is not the issue. The issue is whether or not a hallway alcove is the proper place for a group study session."_

_"Study session? No one ever comes here but me!""_

Snape recognized instantly the poking back of Harry Potter's head. His shirt was mussed. He could clearly see the trademark set of spectacles cast aside of Potter. Most disturbing, however, was the indecent amount of bare female leg wrapped around Potter's waist. Slim fingers in Potter's hair…around his neck. And very wet sounds, soft sighs…and then a shuddering moan from Potter himself. Disgusting. But.

No one ever came here but her. She'd said it. He remembered perfectly.

It seemed to take less than a second for him to reach the alcove. He wondered later if he'd somehow found a way to bypass the ban on Apparition. He didn't remember seeing anything other than a blinding heat of unexplainable rage, though he knew his face betrayed nothing.

Snape clapped a pale fist on Potter's shoulder, and spun him around.

--

a/n When I first started writing this story, it was really the first piece of fan fiction I'd ever attempted. That was almost three years ago. Since then, I've written a lot, and I understand the whole process much better.

As a consequence, you will probably notice a few things that will change in the story to come. Firstly, it will move much more quickly. I will try to update as much as I can. My apologies to those of you who commented that the slow pace was nice. Secondly, the chapters will be MUCH shorter…and less perfectly-proofread as well. And thirdly (aka WORSTLY)…I haven't read Harry Potter in years, nor been in the fandom at all. As a consequence, I have lost much of my canon-learnin' so I'm sure I will screw things up. I ask for your patience! I haven't updated this story in over a year, so I am just trying to find my bearings.

Thanks.


	9. Tainted Cauldron

"Jesus!" Snape staggered back from the alcove.

Harry Potter moved as if lightning had struck. His hands went for his glasses and he stood with the swift speed of a…highly mortified teenage boy.

Luna Lovegood, however, had not moved an inch. "You're blushing, Professor Snape."

Snape was so very rarely speechless that he'd almost forgotten the sensation. He managed to wipe the ghastly expression of repulsion from his face and almost struggled with his words.

"For God's – Potter! Highly inappropriate and disgusting! 50 points for nauseating behavior in the halls!"

"Nauseating? You weren't nauseated," said Luna thoughtfully, past the mumblings from her Gryffindor paramour that she Shut it before we get it worse. "It was anger more than anything. I saw it in your aura. Bright puce." Luna nodded her head.

Snape felt the shock bleeding out of his shoulders, the anger that had so consumed him releasing its hold. "Thank you Miss Lovegood," he said nastily. "That is plenty from _you_. Ten points."

Luna stood up from the cold marble floor, and brushed dust from the back of her robes. "Very well. We'll just have to find a new place, I suppose."

Snape was about to respond when Harry pulled Luna's arm toward him. "Nothing like that, Professor. We'll stop immediately. Never do it again."

"Oh, Harry. I know you don't mean that."

"Sure I do." Potter sped her quickly away.

Snape was looking thoughtfully at the bust in the alcove. He hesitated for a moment, and then called out. "Potter! A word!" Snape snapped his head toward the boy. He was satisfied to see Potter's shoulders curl, even as he turned toward him and whispered a few words to Lovegood.

"Sir?"

"This is a very quiet alcove. Very quiet. So quiet that I am surprised that you would even be aware of it."

Potter nodded. The moron.

Snape rolled his eyes inwardly. "I should think you better served if you didn't go poking around parts of the castle that are best left alone."

Potter nodded curtly. "Yes, Professor." He clearly longed to be dismissed.

Snape would not let him off so easy. "What gave you the idea to come back here?" Why did this matter so much to him?

Potter stammered, clearly struggling for a lie. Snape lost his patience. He would not have done if he'd had a proper sleep the night before, but that was of no matter. He delved into the boy's mind, searching for any other sign of…

"Oi!" Snape felt his subconscious pushed out, and Snape was staring into a pair of green eyes. "What the hell's that about?" Potter looked extremely insulted.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, where do you get off using Legilimency on me? I know we've argued in the past, but all that's over now."

"I am still your professor," countered Snape.

"Yeah, okay. And I still saved your arse from Cruciatus. And you nearly killed my best friend, you twat."

"Ten points," said Snape nastily, but somehow it didn't have the same ring to it.

Potter looked at him and shook his head. "Alright, _Professor_. Have it your way. I'm your peer though – d'you get that? Remus does. So does Minerva. Everyone but you. But then again, it always did take you longer to Iget it/I.

Potter turned on his heel and left, the sun finally breaking fully into the hallway.

--

"Mm," Hermione stretched her arms lazily and yawned, looking very much like a satisfied Crookshanks. "Lovely brekkie, wasn't that?"

Ron, who hated the mornings, shrugged. "Just like any other, I guess."

Hermione sighed, and fiddled with the strap on her bag. "If you'd had your first good night of sleep for the better part of the school year, you'd agree with me. Honestly, I feel…lovely."

"And I feel asthmatic."

Hermione crinkled her nose. "Do you even know what that means, Ronald?"

"Not a clue. Heard about it on Muggle telly at your place last summer." Ron brushed crumbs off of his lap. "Where's Harry?"

Hermione was suddenly very busy with her bag again. "Not sure."

"Hm. Oh well," said Ron dismissively. "Shall we?"

Hermione and Ron stood and walked out of the large doorway into the Great Hall. Swooping in as they exited was Professor Snape, looking extra pale, cross, and tired.

"Good morning, Professor." The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop them. Ron winced at her mocking, singsong tone.

Snape stopped walking, turned his head just slightly. Enough that Hermione could see the sunlit outline of his profile.

His words were barely a menacing whisper. "Is it?"

"Quite." She tried to tone down the mocking in her voice, but instead seemed to have replaced it with a confrontation.

Snape paused for a moment before sweeping into the Great Hall.

Ron shook his head at her. "I don't care if he's not your professor anymore, Miss Metal-charmer…you're asking for it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and was about to tell Ronald that he was being unnecessarily dramatic when she was interrupted by a loud hoot.

"Rotty Potty's gone and snogged a Loon! Potty Loon Pantaloon!"

Hermione covered her ears and her eyes squinted at the screech. Peeves should have been booted out long ago. Hermione felt Ron's hand poking her shoulder, and she slowly eased her eyes open.

"Umagod, Hermione…lookit that." Ron sounded dazed.

Harry Potter walked into breakfast with cheeks aflame, holding tightly to the hand of Luna Lovegood, who seemed to think that nothing at all was different about today, thank you very much.

--

"Sorry to deplete your supply, Poppy." Snape continued to pile the small bottles into his plain, black leather bag. "Found something wrong with the cauldron I brewed it in. I want to avoid any risk."

"That's not a problem, Severus. It seems that I've needed less of my Dreamless Sleep supply since Voldermort's finally been off'd." Madam Pomfrey changed the sheets on one of the cots, pressing crisp corners into the mattress.

"I'm out of svellerweed, not sure when my next shipment from Sweden will be in."

Poppy waved her hand. "That's fine. I've only got one student using it at the moment, anyway. I can always order some up from Hogsmeade, if necessary."

"Should I alert this student to stop using it?"

Poppy looked at him. "That's kind of you, Severus, but I'll handle it. It's just Hermione Granger having a spot of insomnia. I think she's letting the stress get to her. Poor lamb, she's seen a lot in her time."

Snape did not reply.

--

"You didn't look surprised!" Ron stage-whispered in History of Magic.

Hermione frowned at him, and wrote in the margin of the book they were supposed to be sharing.

_Shh. I wasn't. Harry told me last night._

Ron's eyes widened and he scribbled furiously. **Why? Did you catch them at it?**

_Don't be silly. No. I found a note that Luna'd written him. He's been writing to her all year using Carolina Pelly's Instant Message Parchment. Remember? That pad of parchment we've all seen him writing in?_

**Juicy bits of it, please.**

_I didn't READ it. God._

**Then HOW did you KNOW. I HATE IT WHEN YOU HERE THINGS BEFORE I DO.**

Hermione impatiently began to correct his spelling, when Ron scoffed and pulled the book away from her. Hermione sighed. Ron so often felt that he was being left behind, and she didn't know quite what to do about it.

Ah, well. She'd sleep on it tonight, and surely come up with a solution. One more night of that lovely, Dreamless Sleep, and she felt like she'd be able to conquer the world, just her and her wand.

--

He watched her.

She was sitting on a rock, on the stone shore of the lake. The sun was setting, and the wind was blowing softly. Her knees were under her chin, and her Hogwarts robe was wrapped around her.

"You're doing this," she said softly. "I know it. I can feel it when you're here."

"No."

"You want me to suffer and be miserable."

"Wrong again." Snape walked forward and stood several steps behind her. She still had not turned.

"Before you were here, I was in the Battle again. I saw the blood. I was there." Finally she turned to face him.

He kept his face from betraying anything.

"But then you came, and now I'm here…and so are you. The real you." She turned back to stare at the sunset. "You're doing this. I don't know why. It can't be random. I just don't know why."

Snape did not answer her because he had none. He simply sat on one of the rocks, still behind her. They sat like that for ages, staring straight ahead.

The sunset looked like it was burning through her hair.


End file.
